


Hearts or Hits

by fromstars, perlaret



Series: Fullmetal Alchemist Bandom AU + B-Sides [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, F/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromstars/pseuds/fromstars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/pseuds/perlaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2005, and the music scene is changing rapidly. Myspace is still in, the coolest smart phone on the market is the T-Mobile Sidekick, and fanfiction is still posted to Livejournal and Quizilla. The world’s about to meet the Next Big Thing - The Burnouts - fronted by guyliner rocking Roy Mustang, and his right hand man Riza Hawkeye. But can Team Mustang really make it big without selling out? Or will they have to sacrifice hearts for hits?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame perlaret for ridiculous AUs.

**Livejournal**

**post to journal:** infernotionsx

 **date:** May 23 rd, 2005 

 **Subject:** friendship

do your friends ever do something that can’t be fixed or changed and it’s going to be made _public?_

all I can think is:

I’m going to _kill_ them for this. 

 _____

 

**New text message.**

 

To: Hughes

From: Riza 

mustang figured out we put his answering machine recording on the end of the album.

 

_____

 

**New text message.**

 

To: Riza

From: Agent Maes Hughes 

serves him right for trying to rap. too late to change it now. release party’s 2morrow

 

* * *

 

It was funny, Riza thought as she snapped shut her sidekick. Roy sounded more like a Londoner when he was upset than he did virtually any other time. She’d begun to think they’d both had the British sucked out of them — their time in Chicago’s underground had warped the accents, and Riza had been more than happy with dropping her extra vowels to try to fit in with the American scene. Getting the hell away from home had been nice.

Listening to Roy’s accent drop back into place as he spluttered in anger was _hilarious_.

“The album drops _tomorrow_ and you didn’t think to tell me you’d tacked on a bonus track of my _answering machine message?”_  

Riza didn’t look up from her macbook. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said calmly, steadfastly refusing to smile as Havoc craned his neck from the bunks in the bus to look to see what Roy’s fuss was about. He’d been tuning Riza’s guitar with Fuery earlier, but had given up for awhile to play on his gameboy while Fuery fiddled with the tuning equipment. Breda didn’t bother to look perturbed, he was busy fixing dinner. 

Roy pulled a jewel case from his hoodie pocket and waved the plastic in front of her. Riza blinked as she examined the liner notes and album cover with an approving glance. 

“Don’t give me that, the demo didn’t _have_ a sixty second pause before the flame rap started playing.” 

From further back in the bus, Havoc snorted with laughter. 

“Honestly Roy, I don’t have final say in the track listing. If any edits were made by the sound engineers—“

“Why the hell would the sound engineers have my voicemail?” Roy demanded, dropping the CD onto the small fold out dining table. It skid across the surface, and Riza slammed her palm down to prevent it from falling over the other side of the table. 

“Beats me. Should’ve asked Hughes to have a final listen before the release was finalized. Or _maybe,”_ Riza added, furrowing her brow, “-you should have gave it a final listen properly before the deadline like I _told you to_.” 

This caused Roy to hiss. He leaned forwards, snatching the CD out from under her hands and glared at the rest of the band before he fixed his gaze back on Riza. “You _did_ do this.”

“It wasn’t my idea.” Riza replied, bored. She exited viewing his ‘anonymous’ livejournal page on her laptop, and looked back up. “Stop throwing such a tantrum. It was Maes’ idea. He figured there was one way to figure out if you’d done your job by the deadline. I don’t blame him. It’s your own fault, really.” 

At that, Havoc piped up, laughter evident in his voice. “Maybe no one will notice, man.” 

“Oh go to hell, Havoc.” Roy spat back, black bangs falling over his eyes as he grumbled. Riza bit her lip and tried not to laugh. 

It worked too, until Falman edged past Roy and noted calmly, “I thought you knew?”

Riza lost it then, her giggles bubbling forth as Roy’s face darkened. “I can’t believe you all. Kain is the only one here on my side—“ he ranted. 

Fuery’s head popped up from the couch and he slipped off his headphones, reverently clutching the earpiece in one hand. “Actually, they had me figure out how to copy the audio file from your phone. Sorry Roy…” 

“You’re mutinous. _All of you_.” Roy growled, glaring at Riza who had taken to snickering behind her hands. 

“Oh come off it, it’s pretty funny,” she said. “If you hadn’t procrastinated, this would have never happened.” 

“You’re all on probation from having any sort of artistic control or direction from now on.” Roy replied stubbornly.

“As if _you_ could run this band without _her_.” Havoc yelled from his bunk. “Riza’s the only reason we get from point A to point B man.”

“Shut up, Havoc.” Roy snapped. 

“He’s right you know.” Breda said finally, handing Riza a bowl of Mac & Cheese. 

Riza shrugged innocently. “I do, don’t I? Someone needs to remember he’s the front man in the press’s eyes only. We can always find a new bassist…” 

Roy threw up his hands. “Alright, alright. You all win. But no more _bonus_ tracks of anything. No mixtapes, no leaks, and definitely no recording me — whatever you’d record me doing.”

“You recorded _yourself_  that time, mate.” Breda interrupted. 

“ _Point being_ ,” Roy continued. “The release party is tomorrow, and _I’m_ not going to be the one explaining this to Rolling Stones Magazine.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Riza said, digging her fork into her bowl. “I think your lines about lighting up the diggy diggy dark are pretty self-explanatory, really. Lyrical genius.” 

“Very funny, Riza.” Roy said.

Riza raised a brow at him, and then snapped shut her laptop. “Hilarious, actually. I hope you learned your lesson."

Roy's only response was a growl of frustration in the back of his throat. 

 


	2. guyliner

**Livejournal**

**post to journal:** infernotionsx

 **date:** May 24th, 2005 

 **Subject:** get your act together (again)

I’m not sure I should get into it, but it feels like my gps just directed me from between a rock and a hard place .05 miles towards out of the frying pan and into the fire. 

I feel like I'm not sure how long a mile _is_ , exactly you know?

figures that when I’m supposed to walk a mile in someone’s shoes I end up going too far with it 

at any rate, everyone’s counting on me tonight and I can bet that my one invisible subscriber is going to read this and get on my case

(I know, okay? I’ll go get ready. We’ve got this.)

I hope. 

wish me luck

xoxo, king.

 **Mood:** anxious

_____

 

**Myspace**

**The Burnouts is:** ready to party! Album release 4 KINGD♔M 2 C♕NQUER is tonight, be there @ 8 pm 2nite!!

 

_____

 

**New Text Message**

**From:** Roy

 **To:** Riza

shouldn’t it be the burnouts ‘are?’ or is that just myspace?

 

* * *

 

“Hold still,” Riza commanded, striking the match hard before she turned to light the candle. A quick wave of the lit match extinguished the flame, and she nudged Roy into the light of the small green room bathroom. He frowned at her for a moment before he sighed and slouched down to her eye level, waiting for her to apply the eyeliner. 

“I _am_ holding still,” he said calmly, fidgeting with the foundation sponge on the counter. 

Riza shot him a look. She pulled the cap off of her eyeliner pencil and sighed, sharpening it quickly before she put her hand on her hip. “I mean it. I don’t want to poke you in the eye.” 

“You won’t, you’ve done this how many times before?” Roy replied, glancing down at the pencil. 

“Enough times that you should know how to do this yourself.” Riza said, placing her hand over his forehead, before she pushed his head back. 

Leaning against the counter, Roy looked up at the ceiling. “Well we all know how well _that_ turns out,” he mumbled as she dipped the edge of the pencil into the open flame and then yanked it back out. While Roy knew the eyeliner was all a part of the image - and really, he didn’t mind it, it _did_ emphasize his eyes - leaving the applications to Riza was for the best. The heat of the melting pencil stung for a brief second before it began to glide easily over his bottom lid. And not that he would ever mention it to her, but it was nice to have Riza take care of the minor details, like fixing his hair and making sure his eyeliner was properly smudged but not bleeding everywhere, or worse, not properly done on his already angular eyes. 

She’d mentioned once that he had piercing eyes, and then had changed the subject. Whatever _that_ had meant. Roy had spent half a day considering what she was getting at, before trying (and failing) to use an eyelash curler to help his cause. After that little incident, Riza had kept to doing his makeup for him. 

And at first, Roy suspected it had been out of annoyance, but as time had gone on, it had become their little pre-performance ritual — locking up in the bathroom and fixing his makeup. He’d grown to expect it. 

Riza’s hand retreated briefly to dip the pencil back into the edge of the candle flame before she pulled gently on his chin and had him tip his head down, eyes fluttering closed. The stuff felt funny going on, but Riza had a steady hand and she was quick about her line work. Quick enough that every time, Roy expected it to last a fair bit longer, and when it didn’t, he’d begun to start putting up more of a fuss. 

It was all part of their prepping, and at any rate, talking with Riza before they did anything big helped him calm down. 

“How does it look?” 

Riza pursed her lips. “Like you keep blinking while I do it. Close your eyes, I’m going to smudge this better,” she directed, grabbing his jaw with her left hand before she twisted his head towards her. Roy closed his eyes as her thumb swept across his lids, smoothing out shaky lines. 

“You’re going to do fine.” Riza said, interrupting his reverie sharply enough that Roy’s eyes shuttered open to get a better look at her expression. Riza withdrew both of her hands quickly, tucking the liner pencil into her makeup bag, and then retreated to his side. Craning his neck, Roy twisted to look at himself in the mirror before he looked back at her. 

“I could totally muck it up,” he said, blinking at the stark lines she’d marked on him. 

Riza rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re a perfectionist. You’d never honestly screw up out there.” She said flatly, tucking the makeup bag into her purse before she rolled her lipstick over her lips. 

“What about accidental screw ups?” He pressed, pushing off of the bathroom counter hips first, rolling gently to an upright. The jeans weren’t _honestly_ that uncomfortable, but the last thing he wanted was to rip them before they actually got seen. 

“Well I already took my chances with that one.” Riza said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I think we’ve done alright so far.” 

Roy fidgeted. It was true, she’d taken a chance on following him (to America, to the record labels, to just about everything), but— “I’ve screwed up before. Judgement wise…”

Riza stopped in her tracks, hands at the knob of the bathroom door. A moment passed, and Roy realized he was unsure of what she’d say. Her expression softened for a fraction of a moment before the works of it tightened again, her face sliding into her normal assured look. “Yeah, well, that’s what I’m here for. To keep your ass from doing anything stupid. You got us this far. Don’t forget that. Not everyone can turn their screw ups into something of value.” 

“Right, right,” Roy said, pulling his hoodie up over his head. Riza nodded absently, and then opened the door, pushing past him. They walked out and he caught her as she gave him one last passing glance before they grabbed their instruments. 

_He was alright, honestly._

And for all that she worried he felt guilty for having unsettled her - Riza had saved his life, and most days the entire album’s existence was something he had to chalk up to her. One missed text message and Roy was fairly certain she wouldn’t even need to _take_ risks on him. 

He exhaled slowly as he slung his bass strap over his shoulders and worked his fingers into place, running through the initial line of music for their first single in his head. After a few moments of rocking nervously on his feet he gathered himself, and grinned at Riza. 

_Right._

They could do this. 

She smirked back. 

 

* * *

 

**Livejournal**

**post to journal:** ohnotheydidnt — infrnlgrrl_mouthy

 **date:** May 25th, 2005 1:13 am 

 **Subject:** Burnouts drop their album, frontman is douchebag at record party (what else is new?)

MEANWHILE, while the burnouts attempted to be relevant and release their “debut” album **kingdom to conquer** (or whatever ridiculous symbols they’re using), frontman and professional douche Roy Mustang was caught entertaining some groupies (LOL). Jeeze Roy, you’ve really got hangers on…

A friend caught these on her phone. Shame he’s on edge, otherwise these might be more interesting pictures…

**(heavy picspam of the band under the cut).**

_____

 

**New Text Message**

**From:** Roy

 **To:** Riza

save me

 

_____

 

**New Text Message**

**From:** Riza

 **To:** Roy

What did you do this time?

_____

 

**New Text Message**

**From:** Roy

 **To:** Riza

i think these girls are going to try and jump me. can’t they go after havoc?

 

_____

 

**New Text Message**

**From:** Riza

 **To:** Roy

Havoc tries too hard. Be right there to break up your party. 

 

_____

 

**New Text Message**

**From:** Roy

 **To:** Riza

ur a lifesaver riza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i regret nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

 

> _I walk into the room and instantly notice rocker Roy Mustang sprawled out on one end of the couch. His righthand woman and the lead guitarist of The Burnouts, Riza Hawkeye is leaning on the other side of him, and Jean Havoc - second guitar - leans behind them both, but it’s hard not to notice Roy first. Maybe it’s his commanding presence, but it’s also hard not to notice the smaller of the two men's pastel pink gem encrusted ipod mini. I immediately ask if it’s Riza’s out of curiosity, but the suggestion gets shot down._
> 
> _“Nah, my mum sent it to me. Pink’s my color,” he tells me as he gives me a knowing smirk. It seems interesting: most stars like Roy don’t often mention their mother, but Mustang fills me in with some rather casual pride. He was orphaned at a young age and his Aunt took him in as his foster mother, raising him from childhood._
> 
> _Roy wryly notes, “I figure it’s pretty obvious I’m British, but people act shocked when I say my birth mother was Chinese-Korean. Can’t imagine why,” he jokes, and at that Hawkeye snorts, as if she’s heard the faux surprise dozens of times before. For her part, she mentions casually that her ‘mum was American’, and then the conversation quickly returns to what tunes Roy’s been listening to lately._
> 
> _“Would you believe I can’t get ‘My Humps’ out of my head?” he asks, eyes alight with mischief under a thick layer of eyeliner._
> 
> _Increasingly, I believe I could._

 

— Blender Magazine, _Just who do these Burnouts think they are, anyways?_

* * *

 

They were in the middle of what Jean liked to call "bumblefuck nowhere" on the way to New York City when they’d stopped at the motel. It’d never been easy or particularly cheap to foot the hotel bills, but now that they were signed to Central City Records, it was certainly less of a hassle. The crew all doubled up, and the rest of the band did the same, always in the same layout. Jean and Breda bunked together, and Vato and his professional grade earplugs shared with Kain (who often fiddled with the audio well into the night). That left the second room for Roy and Riza, who had been together the longest out of everyone else and naturally claimed the last beds. 

It would have seemed unusual, even suspect, if it wasn’t for the fact that most evenings the band gathered in their room for meetings, video games, and general mayhem. When the band did manage to get a connecting suite, however, all bets were off. The presence of a single shared couch usually meant squabbling for who had to sleep on it, and which two of the guys got to sleep in their own beds. (For Riza’s sake, they’d all decided she always got her own bed. It was, as Roy had declared at the beginning of their earliest tours, the _gentlemanly_ thing to do.)

And one wrestling match on the suite floor and a knocked over lamp later, Havoc had been demoted to the couch.

That evening, Breda, and Jean had wedged themselves onto the couch to play Mario Kart, and Falman had tucked himself into the corner armchair to read a book. Kain was spread out across the floor with his latest sound magazines, and in the back of the room, Roy and Riza had commandeered the small wooden dining table. Heads bowed low, they’d been passing back and forth one of the many band notebooks they kept to cross check expenses. Gas at that city, snacks at the next one, lunch, bathroom breaks…

“Was there anything else in the schedule for today?” Riza asked, sucking on the end of the cheap ball point pen that had been placed on the motel table beside the notepad. She watched as Roy struck a line through their planned pitstops and shook his head. 

“No, I don’t think so…” Black eyes darted back towards the page, and then widened as he flipped through the notebook. “Shit, actually. What time is it?” 

Riza looked up, locking eyes with Roy before she realized what he was getting at. She swung her gaze around to the couch, and bit her lip as she caught sight of the small blinking DVD clock. 

“Boys!” she said sharply, causing Jean to jolt in his seat. “Turn off the game, and switch it to MTV.”

Breda snorted, but Jean was the one to complain first. “Riza, come _on_ — we’re in the middle of a race, can’t it wait five minutes?” 

“No, it can’t.” Roy sighed, reaching for the remote control. The video game flickered off the screen, and the reflection of the TV went a bright blue before it switched to cable channels. A chorus of loud complaints went up as Roy flipped through the channels, stopping when he hit MTV. 

Carson Daly filled the screen. 

“We made it to the top ten this week,” Riza said as she got up from her seat, shoving Havoc aside to make room on the couch. Kain looked up, gaze fixating on the screen while Havoc and Breda tossed the controllers to the floor in apparent defeat. Roy followed, hopping over the back of the couch and squeezing in beside Riza. Breda sighed, slipping to the floor, and Havoc rolled his eyes, leaning away to rest his elbow on the arm of the sofa. 

“Might as well see where we’re ranking before we go perform,” Roy added, draping his arm over the back of the couch as he settled himself down on the cushions, sprawling into Riza’s space. She leaned into him without thought, back pressing against his side as she watched “Number Six” flash across the screen. 

“I was going to win that race, you know,” Jean said petulantly, before Riza lightly nudged him with her knee and gave him a glare. Roy scoffed, and Riza slipped as his chest moved, leaning further against his shoulder. She could feel the tension in his sides and the slight jitter of his foot as he bounced it against the carpeted floor in anticipation. They were going to have to play TRL soon, and there was nothing saying they would even make the top three. And for as much effort as they’d put into their first single, _Seven Deadly Sins (for two lonely sinners),_ Roy was still worried about its success. True, they’d made videos before, and even an album on a smaller, indie label, but this — this was different. The nation was more or less deciding just how good their music really was. And they were left watching.

Riza casually slipped a hand to his knee, slowing the nervous bounce of his leg. She looked up at Roy and raised a brow before slipping her Sidekick out of her pocket in order to get more comfortable. Realizing Roy hadn’t already done the same, she leaned over his lap and pulled his phone out of his pocket, sliding the screen open to reveal the keyboard after she dumped her own phone in her lap. Thumbs dancing across the keys, she typed out a message before passing the phone back to Roy.

He took it in hand, dropping his other palm to her shoulder before he scanned the screen carefully. 

_Breathe. We’re in the top five._

Roy exhaled slowly, chest deflating as his shoulders went slack, and he leaned back against her. 

The screen flashed again and Roy looked up, heaving a sigh of relief. “And at number two: The Burnouts, with _Seven Deadly Sins_ …” 

“I told you, we’ll hit number one by the time we roll in to perform,” Riza said calmly. 

“We _have_ been picking up this last week,” Falman remarked from the corner of the room over the top of his book. 

“Who cares about number one? It’s only two numbers difference anyways. I say we’ve got this in the bag,” Jean added, wriggling at Riza’s side. When it became clear he wasn’t going to get any more room, he slumped, glancing back at Roy and Riza.

Riza squeezed Roy’s knee gently, and he snapped his phone shut, slowly looking imperiously around the room. “Yeah well, we’ll aim for the top anyways. Can’t hurt, can it? I expect everyone will be on their best game tomorrow.”

“Right, we’ll do great. Can we go back to playing Mario Kart now?” Jean said loudly, leaning forwards to pick up his controller. Roy made an irritated noise in the back of his throat and pushed away from the couch while Riza straightened. 

“Oh go ahead,” he scoffed. “I’m going to get things unpacked.” Roy stood up, brushing off his jeans.  

“Might as well do the same. I’ll put a movie on while we get to work. Have fun with that,” Riza said, slipping past Havoc to follow Roy to the adjoining suite room. Pausing at the kitchen, Riza reached into the mini fridge and pulled out two small bottles, handing one to Roy as she shut the suite door behind her. 

She grinned, twisting off the cap of one of them before she raised the bottle up. “I think we deserve a toast, for breaking the top three.” 

“Yeah?” Roy asked, taking the cap off of his own bottle. He sniffed the stuff and winced, drawing his nose away from the lid. “If you _insist_ , Riza,” he said with a smile, fiddling with the cap in his hands. 

“I do. Besides, we might as well get to it before the boys do.” Lifting up her mini bottle, she shared a conspiratorial smile. For a moment, he thought she might wink, but instead Riza looked down, eyes alight with her own private brand of mischief. Roy grinned, bracing himself for the second shot, liquid confidence to match Riza's words. “Cheers, and luck for tomorrow."

“Yeah, Cheers,” Roy said before he knocked back the drink with a grimace, then playfully nudged her towards the suitcases. “Alright, now time for us to be the responsible ones,” he teased, biting his lower lip in thought. 

“You? Suggesting responsibility? I’m shocked…” she said with a laugh as she set her emptied bottle down on the end table. A blonde brow raised in mock disbelief, and he shook his head. 

“Very funny,” Roy said, edging past Riza to unzip his suitcase. “ _Now_ , I’m going to need your help with this. Which looks better—?“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember TRL being a thing?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor tw for over-medicating/depression/anxiety discussed in retrospect

 

> G. Marlowe: Describe your relationship with the guys in the band. It must be an experience to be the only girl with them…
> 
> Riza Hawkeye: I suppose so. I don’t have any siblings of my own, so I guess it’s like having extra brothers. Heymans [Drums], Vato [Keyboard], and Jean [2nd Guitar] all are great guys and we couldn’t ask for anyone better. And our sound guy, Kain, he’s our youngest ‘brother’, so it’s a bit like having family on a never ending road trip, complete with all the squabbling and video games competitions. 
> 
> GM: And your co-lead, Roy? 
> 
> RH: I was fazed by living with the rest of the guys at first. On the bus you have to learn to deal with being in close quarters all the time, so you get to know people in ways you don’t expect very quickly. But Roy is my oldest friend, and that’s the kind of person you already know too well. 
> 
> GM: A more familiar relationship?
> 
> RH:  [Laughs] More like I didn’t have to yell at him to leave the toilet seat down. 

\-- _An Interview with The Burnout's Leading Lady, Riza Hawkeye._ AP Magazine.  

* * *

 

No matter how mundane the comment, whenever Roy mentioned he wasn’t tired, Riza went out of her way to help him sleep. At night Roy’s mind would race, insomnia festering into consuming anxieties. At first, he'd downplayed it well enough, but as time went on his ability to cope had wavered. Months before, Roy had spiraled far enough down that Riza had feared she wouldn’t be able to break him from it. Roy's next step had been to try more extreme measures to quiet his mind. The failure of his attempt was owed mostly to the texts he had sent Riza the same night, prompting her to get him more immediate help. His prescriptions had been beyond inadequate, they were directly exacerbating the problem, and after accidentally overdosing himself (Riza refused to think of it as intentional), it became clear that they would have to resort to other, more difficult methods of working through the insomnia. 

It was for that reason that Riza had put herself in charge of their evening rituals. By the time midnight rolled around, their clothes were usually strewn across the floor, both having laid outfits for the next morning across her hotel bed. Riza would shrug on one of Roy’s oversized shirts to sleep in. Roy, on the other hand, stripped to his boxers. 

Originally, Riza intended for late night movie watching to be something of a mindless wind down for Roy before she retreated to her own bed, but as time passed she worried about where she fell asleep less and less. It was faster to make sure Roy was actually sleeping if he was right next to her, and more comfortable to not peel herself away at two in the morning when the end credits finally rolled on The Princess Bride. It was easy, really, and that seemed to be what mattered most. Being far away from home meant they had grounded themselves in each other, and hanging on to their old childhood habits of watching film favorites made home feel closer. 

Falling asleep in the same bed was always easy but waking up together proved to be a little more complicated. 

It was straightforward enough to shove her macbook onto the nightstand before she fell asleep, but getting comfortable often proved to be more difficult. By the time morning rolled around the day of their TRL performance, Riza found herself tangled in the sheets of the hotel room bed, slipped between Roy’s arms. 

Roy tended to curl up against anything and everything available — she’d seen him cradle his bass, pillows, and blankets dozens of times before, but he was particularly terrible when it came to people. Or rather, when it came to _her_. 

There was nothing that could quite compare to holding a friend close while you slept, even if it meant waking up with your friend’s hand halfway up your shirt. 

As she woke up, Riza exhaled slowly, turning to watch Roy’s sleeping form. He had pulled her close and wrapped his hand around her waist, pushing her shirt up in his sleep. His hands splayed out over her back, and his leg was wedged between her knees, hips pressed tightly against hers. Roy radiated warmth most mornings and she had hitched her leg over his thigh, leaning into his body heat. Asleep, it was hard not to take advantage of the presence of a human heater — awake, it was hard not to notice what early morning proximities meant for Roy’s body. 

Fighting a soft laugh, Riza idled her foot up the back of Roy’s calf as he buried his face further into his pillow. There was no use in waking him up to tell him that he was positioned just a little _too_ closely, especially when he couldn’t help it. Even if she _did_ tell him, it was hardly the first time he’d woken up with the same problem. And Riza could hardly complain — she had wrapped herself just as close to his body as he had to hers. With enough time it would either pass, or Roy would peel out of bed and ‘brush his teeth’ before returning to collapse back exhaustedly into their pile of shared pillows. 

Even despite the unspoken morning ‘problems’ it was _nice_ to wake up in the middle of a hug. Roy was sweet most mornings in a way the rest of the band wasn’t, and he was comfortable in a way she didn’t feel with the rest of the team. The boys were cranky, foul, and under caffeinated, and certainly not _cuddly_. Roy however, was usually too sleepy to put up much of a fuss in the mornings. 

His hair spilled messily over his eyes, and he massaged her lower back with his thumb, smiling dopily in his sleep. He was _pleasant_ to wake up to and just as pleasant waking up, even if some mornings that meant some awkward maneuvering was required to avoid exacerbating morning wood. 

Riza brushed his bangs back from his face as she hitched her leg further up his hips, resting her leg over his side. Her fingers wound through his hair as he stirred. 

“Morning,” Riza said quietly, smiling as Roy made a muffled whine in the back of his throat. 

“Is it really morning?” he asked, cracking one eye open. 

“Mmm,” she replied. “I’d say so.”

Roy sighed. “I don’t want to get up,” he said before realizing what it sounded like. He paused, pressing a finger to her lips. “— _Don’t_. I know. I meant out of _bed_.” 

Riza snickered, pulling away from his hand. “I know what you meant.” 

“You were thinking it,” he accused softly. 

Riza shrugged her shoulders innocently, sliding her leg back down his hips and to his thigh. She bumped her foot against his playfully, “Maybe.”

“You’re evil,” he said affectionately, pushing back against her toes. Riza pushed back, slipping her leg out from between his and nudging him with her knee. 

“That’s what I’m here for,” she said, dropping her hand to his collar, thumb smoothing across his shoulder. Riza closed her eyes for a moment, soaking in his drowsiness. If he wasn’t going to move, that left one other feasible solution she could pursue. Riza waited for Roy to finish wedging his feet between hers, and then yawned. 

“Y’know I’ve got other things for you to focus your mind on. To uh, help distract you,” she said, tapping his chest gently.

Roy raised a brow. 

Riza gave him a sardonic look in return. “Boring stuff, mostly. I finished the mileage checks last night before we loaded into the hotel. Driving into the City itself is gonna be hell, but thankfully we stopped for gas across the street last night. And,” she said, smiling back at Roy, “—this place serves free breakfast. I checked. You can have all the french toast, jam, and eggs you want before we load out for TRL.”

He nodded slowly, before shifting on the bed. Riza instinctively leaned in, coming to rest under his chin as she settled against his chest, nose pressed lightly to the notch of his collar. His weight had left her hips, but he still kept an impossible closeness to her. 

“Is that so?” Roy asked, tracing a half circle over her back like a smile. 

“Mmhm,” Riza hummed, inhaling deeply. Roy smelled of something warm and smoky, like sandalwood and something else she couldn’t quite name. His pulse points radiated his aftershave, and in private she had no qualms about appreciating it. Under the that though, he still smelled like Roy — like sleep and laundry soap and eyeliner.  “We have five more minutes before we need to get out of bed.” 

“Fifteen more,” Roy countered, pressing his lips to the crown of her head in good morning before he returned to resting his chin there.

“ _Five_ , because we have to pack before we head downstairs.” Riza slipped her hand under Roy’s arm and over his side, drawing a frown on his own back. Roy fought not to laugh as she did so, and he shivered as she drew her finger across his bare skin. 

“Fifteen. I’m not ready to get up yet. I’m _comfortable_ here,” he whined, his grip around her tightening in response to her threat. 

“ _Five_ ,” Riza said sternly. 

“— _Ten,”_ Roy demanded, as he clung to her.  

Although he couldn’t see it, Riza rolled her eyes. “Fine, _ten_ more minutes lying here. You’re lucky you’re warm.”

“ _Thank you_.” 

Riza snorted. “You’re ridiculous.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Standing under the bright lights of the studio and running on mostly coffee and adrenaline, Riza took stock of their set up on TRL. They’d wheeled in and ran through sound checks and rehearsal without a hitch, and a few minutes of politely signing autographs beforehand was manageable enough. 

Once the brief interview portion began however, Riza became pretty sure she was going to kill Roy. 

Softball questions like “What’s the craziest rumor you’ve heard about yourself now that you’re famous?” were supposed to be answered with inanities. Things you would read as headlines in _The National Enquirer_ or _The Daily Mail_. You were not supposed to answer, as Roy did, “Uh, that I lost my v-card to a certain someone here, and afterwards I had to start the band as an apology,” while looking directly at her. 

You were _especially_ not supposed to laugh when Carson Daly said, “Oh _no_ ,” and reply with, “I know, it’s completely _ridiculous_. I’m way out of Jean’s league.” 

Riza was grateful that Jean had thrown a pick a him, bouncing it off of his smug head. Roy shot her a confused look she didn’t return, and then continued talking. 

 _He was a complete idiot, and she was going to kill him_. 

Her blood was pounding in her ears by the time the cameras cut to them, and Riza bit her lip as Roy cradled the microphone in his hands and introduced their song. Watching him perform was like watching a switch be flicked hard, sending Roy into some other kind of aura altogether. He was cocky and loud when he wasn’t playing, but the moment his fingers grasped the mic, he transformed. It was more than just confidence or arrogance; Roy had _stage presence_ , an energy that swung into full force the moment he threaded through the first bar of the bass line. His body swung into the rhythm as he kept the beginning beat to Breda’s percussion, and Riza mirrored the rocking motion of his hips with her own guitar as she keyed in to her cue. 

Riza only remembered her stage fright _after_ performances. Once Roy started playing, the steadiness of the music kept her distracted from the audience, and her own music kept her from worrying. Jean played the harmony and bridges that she didn’t, swelling the sound beyond the first line of the guitar, filling in for her when she leaned into Roy’s microphone and sang. She’d had the option to use her own mic, but in all honesty Riza preferred to share Roy’s on this song, to be his callback and to threaten to wrench away the chorus from his control and steal the song. 

She liked the look he gave her when she fought him for control of the mic, the daring glint in his eyes as his fingers moved faster across frets and she stopped to challenge him right then and there on the stage with a single verse. It wasn’t about out-singing him, it was about fighting him for a few moments in a way that pinging a guitar pick off his head wouldn’t accomplish. It was also more than just aggression, for all the annoyance that had coiled in her stomach, her body now felt tight and flush with energy, blood roiling with sudden fervor to echo his words and fill in his gaps in the melody. They sang over and under each other, and it was the friction of their styles and voices that kept them on their toes and kept Riza from being drowned out. 

It was a miracle they weren’t completely discordant, but somehow when he began to play and she followed him, it _worked_. Like a feedback system, the harder she played, the more energy he used, the more _alive_ she felt. Roy’s posture changed, his shoulders rolled forwards over his bass for the heaviest part of the song. He leaned further than was strictly necessary towards her, towards the microphone, and drew out the last verses of the song like a cat playing with its prey. The final held note was hers, long and satisfying as the rest of the band stopped playing and Roy pulled away panting heavily. 

Her fingers popped off of the neck of her guitar with a soft twang, the strings vibrating gently. Riza heard Carson Daly say something else to the camera, but her mind had gone perfectly blank and her only focus was on the light buzzing sensation in her fingers. She flexed, rubbing the pad of each finger softly to remove the thin creases from where she’d pressed down to play. Like Roy and Jean, she’d developed callousing from playing a long time ago, but the pressure still left marks on her skin immediately after a performance. Her hair stuck to her neck, and Riza twisted, brushing it free of her shoulders. A rush of cool studio air hit her neck and she shivered, goosebumps trailing her arms. Carson said something else again, and then the crowd whooped and cheered and the music played the outro theme through the studio. 

Riza remembered her mission. 

She slung her guitar strap over her shoulder and rolled her neck, assessing the small crowd as the production crew rolled away the mic and the sound crew began to break down the stage set up. Havoc was chatting up the MTV intern (“Charlotte” her name tag read), Falman was politely conversing with a few older fans, and Breda was breaking down his drum set. Roy was off to the side, already surrounded by a throng of teenage girls, college co-eds, and overenthusiastic boys with their own garage bands. Killing him would have to wait until after she had finished scribbling her name out in sharpie across scraps of paper, and they were more or less alone again. 

When the witnesses finally cleared away, Riza surged past Roy, shoulder bumping hard against his side as she made her way back towards the green room. He followed behind her without a word, his bass slung behind him as he marched after her. Residual energy burned under her lungs, and when he entered the room, she turned on her heel, palm pressing the door to the green room shut behind him with a sharp snap. 

It was only when she looked up that she realized cornering him against the door with her arm had not been one of her better ideas. Roy’s hair was plastered to his face, and he was still panting, chest heaving as he slid back against the door in exhaustion. He rolled back, hips arched away from the door as he balanced himself by his shoulders, and for a brief, reeling moment she was fixated on the sway of his hips while he breathed. 

She jolted back as if the door had burned her hand and tore her eyes away from his crotch, glaring up at him.

Roy took no notice, tipping his head back against the door before he sighed heavily, and brought his hands to to his hoodie. The metal _snick_ of the zipper being pulled down made Riza shiver and she realized that over the soft noise, she was breathing just as hard as he was. Riza swallowed, shifted on her feet, and then stared. 

A drop of sweat trailed down his throat and hit his clavicle, disappearing under his thin grey tank top. Sweat molded the shirt to his chest, defining the hard lines of his body beneath the fabric. Alarmingly, Riza realized that if she leaned forwards a fraction she would be able to press her mouth to his throat and run her tongue over his skin, tasting salt and the next gasping inhale he took. If she moved, she could shove him back against the door, and run her hands under his shirt and over his chest. 

 _She was going to kill him_ , she reminded herself. 

“What’s up?” he asked, breath catching on the last word. 

Riza’s stomach tightened. 

She took a step back. “Did you _honestly_ think that was funny?” If she stuck to the subject at hand perhaps he’d take her seriously. 

“What, the joke about my v-card? Riza, _anything_ with the phrase ‘v-card’ is hilarious because the term itself absurd,” he explained, running his hands through his hair and pushing back damp black locks from his face. “I was taking a piss at Jean but I’m sure he’ll live. Weirdly, people really _do_ believe that, judging by some of our fan forums…” he straightened slightly, pressing back against the door with both palms before he gave her a curious look. 

“Using me as a misdirect still involves me being part of the set up of your joke. The rumors that will spark from that _alone_ are—“ 

“— _Aren’t_ going to be a problem? It’s a little late for you to have deflowered me, and I think it would be a little crude for us to call up old friends to confirm on our behalves…” he said, lingering on the last word slightly before he sighed. “I was hoping that people would understand that I’m treating those rumors like a joke because it’s ridiculous for anyone to think it’s their business who we have, or _haven’t_ had sex with.” 

Riza looked to the floor, gathering her thoughts as she tapped the body of her guitar idly. “Well, it isn’t,” she agreed quietly. 

Roy leaned forwards on his feet, and for another alarming moment, Riza realized she was once again inches away from his face. The heady scent of his cologne filled the air, but he tilted his head at the last moment, brushing her hair back as he spoke into her ear, breath warm on her skin. 

“Is _that_ why you looked like you were going to lean over the microphone and bite me?” Roy came down on the hard ’t’, like teeth sinking into flesh, and Riza shivered unconsciously. 

She deepened her glare. “I didn’t look like that.” 

“Not saying you didn’t perform well. We sounded great. You just looked miffed, was all.” His fingers lingered against her cheek, and Riza leaned into his touch still digging her nails into the body of her guitar. She just had to prevent herself from leaning out and touching him. From losing _self control_ when he was being like this, like— 

— well, like he wouldn’t _mind_ so much if there was a little more. 

And they’d come to an unspoken agreement about that already. During his recovery, Roy needed a _friend_ more than anything else, and that was what Riza _was_. She wasn’t about to push that onto him, or pressure him into it, and their relationship was _good_ the way it was. Excellent, really. 

“I wasn’t _miffed_ , I just think you should have handled it better.” 

Roy hesitated, retracting his hand quietly. “Does all that ‘do they or don’t they’ stuff really bother you that much?” 

Riza licked her lips, turning away. “Does it matter? Just, try not to cause a press frenzy because you tried to be _funny,_ is all,” she said, eyes darting around the room for her out. She stopped when she found the mini fridge, realizing she hadn’t had anything to drink in hours. If she was overheated, then she probably was snapping at him a little too quickly over nothing.  

“I’m just dehydrated. It makes me sour, you know that,” Riza said suddenly, turning to reach for the bottled Smart Water in the fridge. Her hands trembled as she twisted the cap, and she brought the bottle to her lips, closing her eyes as cold water hit the back of her throat. 

 _This was all dehydration, and maybe she would let him live this time_. 

When she opened her eyes, Roy was standing in front of her again. His hands darted out, and for a moment Riza looked at him in pure confusion before she realized what he was doing. She fought not to spit water on the ground as he snatched the bottle from her hands and grinned, knocking back the remainder of the drink.

His adam’s apple moved slowly up and down while he drank, water seeping past his lips and down his chin, falling off his jaw. She blinked, fixated on the last _gulp_ he made before his lips popped off the bottle. Roy gave a refreshed sigh as if he’d been practicing for some sort of _water advertisement_. She wouldn’t have put it entirely past him or his crooked grin if he had been doing just that. 

Riza considered shoving him back against the wall again. 

“ _You—_ “ she began, frustrated. 

“I was thirsty too,” Roy protested, lifting his hands up in defense. 

Riza’s hands curled over her guitar once again, and she growled in the back of her throat. “I’m going back to the hotel to take a shower,” she explained suddenly, pushing past him, “I will catch you _later_.” 


	6. Chapter 6

<http://livejournal.com>

 

post to journal: burnoutboyz

date: June 3rd, 2005

Subject: [Fic] Up in Smoke ch. 5 Jean/Roy

Title: Up in Smoke

Author: shhhskaxoxo

Pairing: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang

Summary: On the hunt for a second guitarist, Roy Mustang finds himself burning up for a certain blue eyed blonde smoker who happens to know his way around his frets…and Jean is going to prove he’s worth it to the band.

 

NC-17 for Lemon lol

 

Snippet: _I had the short bassist right where I wanted him, knee pushed between his legs and his hands pushing back against the bedroom door. If there had been any doubt to just how badly he wanted me to play, with him, with the band - it was gone by the time he leaned back against me, shifting his hips as I worked at his belt. It was perfect - save for one thing._

_“Shit, I don’t have any—“ I began before Roy grunted and held his hand out._

_“Fuck. Hand me your lighter,” he directed, wriggling in his half undone skinny jeans._

_“My lighter?” I asked, feeling confused. I dug into my pocket and pulled it out, before pressing it into his palm. He took it hurriedly, like a kid desperate for candy. It didn’t exactly seem right to light up now, so I watched, pressing up against his back impatiently._

_Roy broke the top off of the lighter, and before I could utter a loud complaint, he handed it back to me, fluid sloshing inside._

_“Oh. Guess that works,” I said._

 

* * *

 

There was no other way to explain it: Riza had been ticked off. Normally, Roy would be inclined to take her reasonings at face value - it was dehydration, she was overheated - but he’d seen her perform beside him and there had been something _else_ in her eyes this time. Riza always played well, but that afternoon she had been different somehow, more tense. More _hungry_ , Roy had thought, as she’d nearly shoved him against the door when he’d followed her into the green room. And whether that it’d been a fire of fury or of something more base, Roy couldn’t quite tell. 

For all that he’d tried to rattle her just as much as she rattled him, it only seemed to provoke her ire further. It was sometimes difficult to figure out what was in her head, and frustratingly impossible when he wanted to know what she was thinking the most. For all that Roy felt he understood the littlest of meanings in her movements, there were some days where all of Riza’s gestures eluded him. She was angry, but in a way that made his mind wander, and it had been lucky that he’d had his bass on hand for the duration of their performance. It was one thing to wear women’s skinny jeans in public, and another entirely to show off just how _tight_ they could really be.

Luckily, he’d had the sense not to bother texting Hughes about the performance, and had instead followed Riza’s cue and taken a cab back to the hotel while the guys dealt with the bus. While Riza occupied their bathroom, the other adjoining suite room’s bathroom was still open and blissfully free of Jean’s _Axe_ stench. 

Roy peeled away his clothes, hopping into the shower to wash away sweat and grime. Warm water seeped into his hair and he rolled his shoulders, working tension from his muscles. The ache began to leave his body and the guilt slipped into its place. Perhaps he _had_ been rash on air, and perhaps he shouldn’t have teased her with the water bottle like he had. Being funny had obviously gone too far, and whatever he felt while they performed didn’t always have any bearing on whatever happened offstage. 

When he finished, Roy leaned to switch off the faucet, reaching for the fluffy white hotel towels. He toweled himself off quickly, drying his hair as best he could before he changed into clean boxers. The outside suite room was still silent and when Roy opened the door, he was met with further silence. The rest of the band wasn’t back yet, and Riza’s shower had stopped running. It seemed like a good time to try and make reparations for his earlier behavior, so he crossed the suite room and nudged open the open bedroom door. What he found surprised him.

Riza was spread out across what was ostensibly his bed, lying face down over the comforter. Her hair was dark from water, and aside from a towel wrapped around her waist, she was completely naked. He stared, watching her shoulders move as she inhaled and exhaled deeply, face buried in his pillow. Instead of taking out her frustrations on something, Riza looked like she was trying to block out the world. Moving against the sheets, Riza groaned against the pillowcase and Roy coughed, alerting her to his presence. 

She didn’t bother to look up. “The shower didn’t help,” Riza said, sinking her weight further into the bed. Her toes curled into the blankets and she sighed.

“Still tense?” Roy asked, dropping his towel and dirty clothes in the corner before he edged closer towards the bed. The lines of her tattoo moved as she shifted again, and Roy wondered briefly how she could still be so on edge when she otherwise looked so comfortable. 

There had to be a way to help her to relax. 

“Headache, plus all the stress goes to my back and the shower didn’t _help_ , completely,” Riza said, hanging a hint of something else on her words. Her tongue ran over her teeth for a moment before she shifted restlessly again. Roy’s eyes flicked over the soft curving expanse of her back for a moment, eyeing the white towel that began at the small of her back. The scene reminded him of something, had been something he’d done before and had asked for a few lessons on in the past. 

“I laid down when I got out and can’t bring myself to get back up,” Riza added. 

There was a logical way to make it up to her, he just had to offer it. 

Roy leaned at the foot of the bed, propping his hand on the edge as he pulled his suitcase over. “I think I know what you need. You’re lucky I always remember to pack this,” he said reaching for the aromatherapy lotion his mother had sent him. Beside it had been a small tub of tiger balm, which Roy placed on the night stand for later. “Massage lotion. Best way to work out the kinks is to have someone with a helping hand. You’ll feel better in no time,” he assured. 

Riza lifted her chin up on the pillow, not quite looking back at him. “Helping hand?” she echoed lightly.

“Mmm, yeah?” Roy said, sitting on the bed beside her, suddenly unsure of his own suggestion. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do her a favor, or even that he didn’t like the thought of giving her a massage. Roy couldn’t deny that he could still smell the soapy steam of her shower and wanted to move closer, but the air between them had changed after his hospitalization. Roy had begun to recover and to want to return to where they’d _been_ , where that would have been easier and comfortable, but Riza…

“If you don’t mind?” she said slowly, folding her arms before her over her pillow. He glanced down at the musical notations in her tattoo, and then quietly scootched closer to her side. More than making up for trying to egg her on earlier, Roy felt like this was another moment in a long line of making things up to Riza for helping him. She had taken care of him and remained at his side as he recovered, but it had done something to her just as much as it had affected him. Before the incident Roy had been sure they were going to finally be together - as a couple and not just as partners. After, it seemed like the chance was further away than before. He’d grown closer to Riza than ever before, yet somehow felt like she was holding him at arm’s length. 

Still, she _trusted_ him as a friend, and that mattered too. 

He knelt on his knees, popping open the lotion cap before he leaned forwards. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back,” he said with a grin, slipping one leg over the other side of her hips. Riza snorted in response, a gentle laugh before she relaxed. Roy brushed wet hair away from her neck and shoulders, watching intently as rivulets of water slipped over her skin. Riza inhaled audibly, and Roy looked up. 

Biting his lip, Roy squeezed lotion onto his hands and began to warm his palms by rubbing them briskly. From beneath him, he heard Riza ask, “Do I want to know why you have scented lotion on hand, or am I better off not asking?” 

Roy laughed. “Mum sent it. You know how she is, first the tiger balm for when I’m sore and then the lotion to smell nice instead of like menthol.” He placed his hands at her neck, gently running his thumbs down the top of her spine. 

Exhaling, Riza gave a small nod. “Tell Chris she continues to be wonderful to me,” she said, humming pleasantly as Roy began to massage her neck and shoulders. Roy nodded to himself, stretching his thumbs further to the base of her neck. For better or for worse, his mother was prone to nagging him with self-care products. The pink iPod mini, the massage lotions, even sleeping masks for flights had been mailed out to the record company to be shipped to the next concert tour stop. Occasionally, even Riza had received packages she usually opened in private. 

For that alone, Roy had figured Riza was a little more spoiled than she let on by his mother. He grinned, pushing forwards on his knees to push into the tension in her shoulders. It was fair enough to argue that Riza probably needed it just as much as he did, if not more. Roy could counted on to take care of himself, as long as he was sleeping. Riza on the other hand, simply seemed to forget she was human too. Always running on full speed and keeping everyone else together on top of it had to take its toll. 

“Do you always keep all your stress in your shoulders like this?” Roy asked, rolling his thumb over a knot in her back. 

Riza made a displeased noise in the back of her throat before she lifted her chin up from her pillow. “Normally I have time for morning yoga stretches,” she said, tensing as he edged around the knot. “If you could just push right—,” she directed, before Roy cut her off with a firm press into her back. Riza let out a choked gasp, and Roy retracted his hands briefly before she brought an arm back to tap him on the arm. 

“— _There_. Don’t stop,” Riza scolded. 

Roy gingerly brought his hands back to her bare back, fingertips sliding back into place. It was then that he realized the precariousness of his situation. There was certainly no way to back out of the massage now - he’d certainly been happy enough to offer it. But there was also the fact that he had straddled her hips to do so, and that he could feel her damp towel against his knees and her cool skin beneath his fingers. 

Roy swallowed dryly. 

“Here?” he said, massaging gently as he spoke. 

“ _Mmm_ ,” she confirmed, shivering beneath his hands slightly. “Like that, but more.”

Close enough to smell her soap under the lotion, Roy pushed harder, hands tensing as he shifted over a spot where her tattoo lay. Rolling his fingers over her, he took a baited breath before he leaned in, trying not to breathe too heavily over his hands. The tension beneath his hands began to ease as he pressed and Riza let out a deep pleased sound, sighing into her pillow.

“ _God_ ,” she breathed, voice muffled against the pillowcase, palm fisting in the bed sheets. Roy tensed again, but this time he didn’t stop. Thinking about it, he was entirely sure he didn’t _want_ to. He slid his thumb over her spine, running it down her back lightly as she shivered. 

If starting this had been incredibly stupid, then what he did next could only have been called pure madness. Roy leaned forwards, mouth inches away from her skin as he exhaled warm breaths against her mid-back. Tiny droplets of water skid across her body when he blew, and Riza’s muscles ran taut under his breath. It wasn’t a professional technique, even Roy knew that much, but he couldn’t help it. And however tempting it was to simply dip a little closer and kiss the lines of ink and freckled mark on her skin, there were lines he couldn’t cross. 

Roy breathed again, and moved his hands further down her back to work away the remaining damp chill from her body. His fingers rolled against the edge of a knot, kneading firmly against the firmest spot that had worked itself into her lower back. Pressing hard, Riza’s hands tightened their grip on the sheets before she let out a long moan that ran something electric up her spine and into Roy’s bones. It started soft, but she keened as he pressed harder, working through the tension and layer of pain until she hit a note of pleasure and relief. The low rumble of the end of the noise dragged a flaring heat into his belly and Roy shifted on his knees again. 

They were going to have another situation entirely if he kept it up, hips pressed as close to hers as they had been. Riza’s ribs rose and fell laboredly as she stretched her legs, calves tensing as she dug her toes into the bed, and buried her face further into the pillow. Without pause, Roy rotated the pressure of his thumbs and Riza stifled another stiff gasp, a tiny flicker of pleasure escaping past her lips. 

Roy bowed low over her again, vaguely sure that she heard just how fast his own breaths were now coming. This was more than a bad idea to continue - his palms flexed at her hips and the small of her back - it was a regrettable mistake already made. Struggling to regain his composure, Roy tore his hands away from her hips and pressed down into the mattress beside her. The room was quiet save for their breathing for a moment, and after a pause while the heat of her body left his hands, Roy cleared his throat.

“You— did that help?” he asked, feeling somewhat desperate. 

Riza pushed herself away from her pillow. “I don’t think a massage can help me at this point,” she said, voice lilting in a shaken sort of quaver. Roy swallowed again, brushing his hands over his boxer shorts to remove the excess lotion on his palms. He arched to hear her frustrated sigh before she added, “-I do feel a little better though, thanks,” 

“Not,” Roy said, hanging on the word, “-a _problem_ ,” he rolled up, then swung his leg back over her, landing softly at her side on the bed. There was nothing left to do but to distract her long enough to get dressed properly, and Roy set the bottle of lotion on the floor before he spoke. “You know what, we haven’t eaten in hours. I bet that’s part of it.” 

“Eaten?” Riza asked.

“I’m thinking of ordering pizza so you can ah, get dressed,” Roy said, edging towards the side of the bed. He caught Riza’s hands relax against the sheets out of the corner of his eye and rocked up to his feet. After a moment’s adjustment, he padded to the corner where he’d dumped his dirty jeans and Sidekick phone, awkwardly fiddling with the slide out screen. “I’m starving actually so…”

“Yeah,” Riza answered. “Sounds good. If you could just lock the door on your way out..?” she asked, quietly, still sunk into the sheets of the bed. Roy hastily pulled on a clean pair of pants, and nodded to himself, before turning back to face her as he fiddled with his belt.

“Sure thing. I’ll let you— I’ll order while you dress,” he said, walking backwards towards the door until he bumped into it back first and then awkwardly opened it behind him. Riza watched, arms folded before her chest and eyes lit with amusement and annoyance as he pressed the small button lock down and then made his retreat. 

* * *

**New Text Message**

**From:** Roy

 **To:** Jean

ordered loads of pizza. stop trying 2 hit on birds & come eat

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i blame perlaret for everything tbh

Blender: Any weird fears in the band? Who can’t see a scary movie without leaving the lights on?

Breda: Well that’s easy. I’m not too fond of dogs, even chihuahuas. Sure their teeth look small, but needles are small. They’re vicious, and I don’t like ‘em. Give me a slasher flick over a dog any old day. 

— Blender Magazine Online, _“The Other Burnouts.”_

 

* * *

 

Roy had tried rather unsuccessfully to write off Riza’s improved mood during dinner the night before. There were a myriad of things he could have chalked the spike in her mood up to - food, hydration, clean clothes. In the end, the smoking gun was a glimpse of her light blue ‘companion’ being tucked back into her suitcase after their pizzas had been demolished. While it was clear she hadn’t intended for Roy to notice, it was hard not to be familiar with the sight of her vibrator after years of having shared a college flat. 

Getting to sleep after that had proved somewhat difficult. 

While Roy had peeled away clothes to get ready for bed, Riza had wiggled into something that could only be described as barely there. Instead of her usual stolen and oversized t-shirt, Riza had dug out a flimsy camisole and ruffled sleep shorts from her luggage. The thin cotton was a delicate blue color that set off against the creamier tones of her skin. Whether he was supposed to notice or not, it was hard not to see the barest of outlines of her nipples beneath the fabric, and the way her shorts rode so low on her hips left no doubt she hadn’t left any underwear on underneath them. 

Riza, with her good mood and improved attitude, was more inclined to cuddle after she’d gotten off.  She’d pulled him into bed, and wrapped herself tight against his chest, skin pressed to skin. It had been distracting to say the least, and Roy hadn’t been able to help the contented way he’d buried his face into her hair. There was no denying it — Riza smelled like shampoo and lotion and a heady undertone of _sex_ that was overwhelming. If Riza objected to his mouth hovering at her neck and nose buried in her hair, she said nothing about it. In fact, it was only when she turned, wrapping his arms around her again, that Roy leaned forwards and pressed his lips to the back of her neck in a sleepy imitation of a kiss. Riza’s breathing had slowed, then evened out to a lull as Roy had settled around her. 

When Roy woke that morning, he found Riza had spread herself insistently across his chest in her sleep. Her camisole was rucked up underneath her breasts, and with every breath she took Roy unmistakably felt the shift of her ribs pressing against his skin.  Riza had slung her leg over his hip and nestled it between his knees, her thigh pressed insistently against his lap. With each exhale she took, he felt her breath whisper across his collarbone. Roy shivered, skin electric under her touch.

They had often woken up tangled in each other but never quite like this. Roy inhaled sharply, the sleepy intoxicating scent of Riza’s hair rolling over him as he dropped his head forwards against the crown of her head. He curled his fingers reflexively before he noticed with some chagrin he had been cupping her ass in his sleep. There were _many_ things Roy thought would be overlooked when she was awake, but that was not one of them. Moving his palm up, he brought his hand to a rest as the exposed small of her back before humming lightly into her golden hair. 

Then again, maybe Roy had misunderstood Riza’s feelings about their readiness to take the next step more than he had initially thought. There were a few things that were hard to deny: that he affected her as much as she did him, that regardless of his past she had remained intimately close, and that like _this_ it was more than possible he could just lean a little further and brush a purposeful kiss against her forehead. Maybe she wouldn’t have minded all that much if he did kiss her then and there — he was doing better after all. Better enough that maybe she saw the opportunity to move forwards falling back into their hands. 

As he contemplated doing so Riza stirred on his chest, burying her nose into the small notch of his collarbone. Her eyes fluttered open and with a soft sigh she stretched across him lengthwise, toes curling into his calf. Riza promptly gave Roy a contented look beneath heavy lashes and he bit his lip in response. He was more than certain she could feel the quickened squeeze in his chest, and she gave him a knowing look that made him want to explain what he knew he couldn’t say. Even _looking_ at Riza made him want her — and it was so much worse when she met him with a gaze that felt more sultry than sleepy. If he could have squirmed under her gaze without alerting her to his _problem_ , he would have. 

The fact that he was beginning to reevaluate whether or not she _knew_ about how she affected him made his mouth go dry. He watched her lift her head, arms still propped against his chest. 

“Morning,” Riza said softly, brushing the pads of her fingertips across his collarbone. 

Roy smiled in response, voice cracking roughly from sleep as he replied. “Mornin’ beautiful,” he purred. 

Riza raised a brow. “Are you making fun of my bed head, Roy Mustang?” she asked, dragging her fingers across his exposed nipple, lightly tracing a circle. Roy shivered lightly. She moved her finger again, this time in a counter-clockwise fashion and grinned when Roy’s breath hitched. 

“Not in the _slightest_ ,”  Roy replied with a calculating grin. She was a hair’s breadth from his mouth, close enough to feel her words on his lips, and a thrilling insistency to close the gap nagged at him. “—Just stating the facts,” he said.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Riza hummed, “I’m sure—“ 

For a brief moment they both fell silent, watching each other for their next moves. Riza licked her bottom lip, running her tongue neatly over the edge of her mouth in a suggestion. When her tongue flickered back out of view, Riza smiled and Roy pressed his fingers into her sides tightly. Heat filled the hesitation between her mouth and his, and Riza leaned forwards, her hair spilling over his shoulders. But then, as suddenly as his urge to stretch forwards had taken hold, a loud rap at the door interrupted their daze, and Riza startled from her spot. She pulled away neatly, leaving Roy bereft as she grabbed her fuzzy robe. 

Havoc’s voice carried through the wooden door. “Hey guys, you up yet? I think you’re gonna need to come look at something…” 

It was Roy who sighed, but Riza who rolled her eyes and thrust open the bedroom door, hand on her hip. 

“Tell me nothing’s broken,” she said flatly. Roy craned his neck to watch Havoc in the doorway shaking his head.

“Nooot _quite_ the problem I’m referring to,” Havoc said, jabbing a thumb back towards the living room of the suite. Whatever it was, Roy couldn’t see from his vantage point, and Riza took a full step back before gesturing his direction.

“You too, Roy. I think we need to get Breda off of the hotel table,” she said with a sigh, before turning back to follow Havoc. 

Curious, Roy pushed back the sheets and shimmied into a pair of jeans before he wandered out into the suite room to take in the chaos before him. Havoc was anxiously flicking his lighter’s cap open and then shut, Riza had her arms folded across her chest, Falman was calmly watching from the sidelines, and Breda was cowering on top of the hotel’s small wooden dining table. 

From Fuery and what was quite possibly the most adorable mood ruiner he had seen in a long time.

Or rather, from what appeared to be a small, insistent _puppy_ in Fuery’s hands. 

“Kain, what is that?” Riza asked, pointing to the small black and white ball of fur.

Falman leaned back against the wall and answered before Fuery could stutter out a response. “That, Riza, is a “dog”. It appears to be a puppy of the Shiba Inu breed, originating in Japan—“ 

Riza put her hand up. “I wasn’t asking about _that_ , Vato,” she said sharply, before pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Roy took a step forwards, leaning past Riza and Havoc to look at the huddled mass in Kain’s arms. 

“Look, I’m _really_ sorry guys, but I was walking out to grab donuts and coffee for everyone when I woke up, and it started to rain, and I just found this little guy without _anything_ ,” Fuery defended, stroking the puppy’s velvety ears. “—No collar or food or shelter, and I couldn’t just _leave_ him there. I know I can’t keep him in my bunk because he might chew on cords, but…” he shot a desperate look around the room. The puppy seemed to catch on to his distress, and burrowed itself further into his cradled hold, nose nuzzling against his wet shirt. 

Havoc leaned down to get a better look. “Well, I hear dogs taste good. I vote we just eat him,” he drawled. 

From the table, Breda nodded vigorously. “He’s got my vote. Dogs are horrid.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Roy said, outstretching a hand to pluck the pup from Kain’s hold. The dog was rather docile, its body hardly bigger than his palms put together, and his tail wagging pleasantly as Roy held him up in the fashion of Rafiki’s hold in The Lion King. He gave the little disturbance a once over, before looking back at Riza. They had to do _something_. “We’re not going to eat the little guy, no matter what we do with him.”

Fuery loudly exhaled, his body sinking in relief. “Thank goodness,” he breathed. “I didn’t know you liked dogs, Roy.” 

This brought a wicked grin to Roy’s face. “I _love_ dogs,” he enthused brightly. At this, the puppy squirmed, attempting a small bark of agreement. Roy stopped midsentence, and smiled more softly, lowering the pup to eye level. “Well _Konnichiwa_ , _Shiba inu san_ ,” he replied. 

Riza raised a brow. “Are you trying to speak to the dog in _another language?”_ she asked dubiously. Riza hands wound around the belt of her robe, as if to tighten it further against Roy’s wandering gaze. 

Roy shot her back a look. “Well the dog is a _Japanese_ breed, like Falman said, and none of _you_ will practice learning the language with me,” he said tersely. 

The lid of Havoc’s lighter flicked open, and he laughed roughly. “Okay, I’m not exactly sure your watching a whole bunch of cartoons is gonna count as learning another language, as hot as those babes are—“

“— _Sailor Moon_ is a classic anime about women who are soldiers in the fight against the negaverse, and just because _you_ can’t tell the difference between a porn flick and a magical girl series doesn’t mean the rest of us are so uncultured,” Roy shot back, lowering the dog to glare upwards at Havoc. “So what if I try to speak to the dog in a language you won’t even bother to try to understand?”

“All I’m saying is he’s a _dog_ , not a person. And no one cares how cultured you are, miniskirts are the same in every language,” Havoc pressed, pushing his thumb against the lighter, causing it to flicker on. Riza hid her mouth with her hand, fighting off the glimmer in her eyes. 

Roy frowned, and muttered under his breath, “ _Baka_.” 

At that, Riza rolled her eyes. While she didn’t speak Japanese, she had picked up on his latest foray into the language well enough that she seemed to sense the implicit insult. She straightened, and then looked up.

“Why don’t I keep him? We can call him Black Hayate,” she said, taking the puppy from Roy’s grasp. Their hands brushed against each other briefly and then as quickly as it had happened she was pulling away, cradling the puppy close. “If he’s so Japanese, he needs a Japanese name.” 

“So we can keep him?” Fuery asked brightly. 

Brushing loose fur from his hands against his jeans, Roy gave Riza a bewildered look while the band watched uncertainly. “What kind of name is that?”

Falman glanced over. “The word ‘ _hayate’_ means hurricane in Japanese, as opposed to the word ‘ _tsunami_ ’ which has—“ 

“—I didn’t mean what does the word _mean,_ ” Roy interrupted, crossing his arms. “I meant why would you name a dog _that?_ ”

The expression that Riza gave him - even while in the fuzzy robe that she had now wrapped the puppy in for warmth - was withering. Roy stepped back. 

“Because someone insisted that because the dog was Japanese, he should try talking to it in _Japanese_. And out of everyone here, it’s fairly obvious I’m going to be the only one to take care of him, so he’s now _my dog_ ,” she said pointedly, brushing back loose blonde hair from her shoulders before she scratched the newly christened Hayate behind his ears. The puppy whined pleasantly, paws set snugly against Riza’s cleavage in a manner that Roy had to admit he was bizarrely envious of.  It looked _comfortable_ in a way that seemed remarkably unfair. 

“Breda’s terrified of dogs, Kain can’t take him because of the sound equipment, Vato won’t spend enough time training him, _Jean offered to eat him_ , and  _you—“_ Riza accused, “—are not to be trusted with a puppy without supervision. He’ll be my dog, and the name is very rock and roll.” 

Turning to look down at the puppy, she stroked his nose and muzzle gently, “Aren’t you the sweetest black eyed thing in the room?” she said softly, while Roy passed an affronted look to Havoc. “I’ll be strict, but I think you’ll do just fine since you’re so calm.” 

Hayate barked in agreement. 


	8. Chapter 8

Adopting Hayate had proved to be no easy feat. Beyond the licensing, the shots, the vet fees, and convincing the tour managers to only book pet-friendly hotels, Riza had learned fairly quickly that puppies were both adorable and a handful. It was hardly surprising that Roy liked Hayate so much — she could easily ascribe the same features to him. Throughout the week Roy had helped obtain everything they’d needed to take care of a dog — including going overboard on buying studded collars and various fashionable leashes — but he’d also taken to trying to worm his way into bonding time with her new dog.

At the end of their week in New York City, Riza had found him sprawled across the tour bus’s leather couch, legs thrown over the edge of the seats, toes skimming his kicked off Converses. His biggest accessory was her dog sprawled out frog-legged across his chest, lazily licking his chin. Roy seemed mildly amused.

Riza raised a brow. “What are you two doing?” she asked, crossing her arms. She rocked on her feet before the couch, leaning over them both.

“I think I smell like hot dogs from lunch still,” Roy replied with a shrug. “So he decided to lick me. It tickles.”

Riza glanced down at her puppy’s pink tongue running another lap over Roy’s cheek. Both his front paws were pressed to Roy’s shoulders, and his black tail wagged happily behind his little body. Hayate had begun to fill out quickly with regular feedings, growing less hungry looking. Beneath her dog’s licks Roy squirmed and laughed, backing himself up further into the couch. This caused Hayate to bark, pouncing against Roy’s shoulders excitedly.

“Okay, okay!” Roy yelped, stroking behind Hayate’s ears. Riza smiled, settling down beside Roy on the edge of the couch. She leaned forwards to wrap her arms around Hayate, bringing him close. With a mischievous wiggle, her dog slid forwards out of her grasp and Riza fell against Roy’s chest. She was met with a face full of puppy tail before she pushed Hayate to the side, pulling him up to snuggle between her arms. Riza leaned her head back against Roy, and sighed, rolling her eyes.

The corners of Roy’s mouth twitched upwards as if to hold back a knowing laugh and black eyes softened as he looked back at her. Stretching forwards, Riza traced the edge of the collar of Roy’s shirt, fingers running over the hem. She would miss the opportunity to do this again once they left the city on the bus and made their way to their next destination. Small bouts of privacy ended up feeling more like stolen moments once they got back on the bus, and Riza briefly calculated their next hotel stop in her head. It wouldn’t be much longer before they had a moment for real privacy again.

“There. I’ve saved you from my dog,” she said with a grin. Hayate whined pleasantly, burying his cold nose against the inside of Riza’s elbow. When she looked back at Roy he exhaled slowly and leaned his head up to glance back, taking note of the way she’d ended up laid out across his chest. Tucking her left leg under her, she dangled her other foot off the edge of the couch and balanced herself against him.

“Thank you,” Roy replied, scratching gently behind Hayate’s ears. “It’s appreciated. Although we were doing just fine.”

“You were,” Riza said, tilting her head. “But I thought I could help regardless. I came to tell you they’ve finished setting up.” Their final scheduled event had been to do a signing in CBGB’s music shop, and the bus had arrived on location long before everything was actually ready. Given the opportunity, the rest of the boys had left to stretch their legs, and Roy went to ‘borrow’ Hayate. Riza had been the only one to check up on the progress of the set up inside while everyone else had killed time.

“I suspect you’re just here to keep Hayate to yourself,” Roy said, pushing out his bottom lip into a small pout. “The signing doesn’t start for another ten minutes, at least.”

Riza shrugged. It was true they had a little while longer before they had to sit down and prepare for the line of fans waiting for them, but she hadn’t gone back on the bus with the intention to linger. Even if Roy’s lazy smile and soft looks were a very compelling argument to stay, Riza kept a tight schedule for a reason — they were due in the next city by tomorrow afternoon, and couldn’t afford to stay overtime at the signing.

“There’s a line queuing,” she said, kissing Hayate’s snout.

“There’s always a line queueing,” Roy countered, slinging his arm over her back, as he leaned back against the armrest of the sofa. “We have a few more minutes,” he bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. He repeated it, as if telling her again would convince her to linger a little longer. If Roy hadn’t made a habit of stalling whenever they found themselves comfortable, Riza might have been more easily convinced. His thumb slid over her shoulder in a persuasive gesture, and Hayate’s tail swished between them both.

Ignoring him, Riza turned her attentions to her puppy. “I’m going to take my pretty boy over there right now, though,” she said voice bouncing lightly with enthusiasm as Hayate’s ears perked and he wriggled upwards to lick her excitedly.

“Pretty boy? I’m flattered but—“ Roy began, giving her a cheeky look as she pressed her palm flat against his chest and pushed back.

Sitting up, Riza gave him a sardonic look. “The dog. Not you,” she said, scooping Hayate up into her arms as she stood up.  Scratching under Hayate’s collar, she peered down at Roy again, eyes dropping to where his shirt had rucked up and exposed his lower stomach. A tight sliver of skin was visible between hem and belt, and for a brief, daring moment, she calculated how much she could do with him in ten minutes, how easy it would be to pull his shirt up further or his pants down lower and tongue exposed skin, grazing sharp angles. With enough time, she could have satisfied the need to kiss him roughly, sinking her fingers into his hair and biting his bottom lip when he groaned. They could have continued where the arrival of Hayate had cut them off earlier in the week. The even more startling notion that she might have done it, if not for the inquisitive puppy in her arms, had her taking a full step back, eyes tearing away from him.

“You didn’t specify,” Roy said warmly, shaking himself up off of the couch as he rolled upwards, muscles tensing as he moved. Riza swallowed, before she attempted to firm her expression.

“I didn’t think I needed to tell you I was talking to the dog,” she remarked.

“Well you were the one who said it was ridiculous that I was trying to speak to a puppy in Japanese—“ Roy replied, rocking on his feet to his full height. Hardly more than two inches taller than her, it didn’t give Roy much of an edge, except to remind Riza that she wouldn’t have to angle herself very far to kiss that smart mouth of his.

“In Japanese! Like you were expecting him to talk back,” she said, sidestepping him and temptation before she pushed past and walked towards the front of the bus.

“—Honestly Riza, it’s almost like you think I’m not as cute as a puppy is,” Roy said, still grinning as he followed her to the door of the bus. Riza pushed it open and stepped off, turning as she hit the pavement of the parking lot.

“Well, you might win a kennel show,” Riza said.

“You flatter me,” he pressed, giving her a lopsided grin. Roy tugged at his shirt, cocking his head as he waited for her response. If he hadn’t looked so confident about her response, Riza might have sighed even more deeply.

“You only think I flatter you,” she said, before turning on her heel with a smile. “Although I’ll admit,” Riza added as she began to walk purposefully away, counting the pause between her footsteps and Roy’s after he’d finished watching her stride. “—You’re certainly easier to train than Hayate is.”

“Hey—“ Roy said from behind her as she swung open the back entrance door.

Drawing to a halt, Riza stopped in her tracks, pausing as she took in the scene. The back entry didn’t seem unusual, but something about the air of the music store had changed. Roy bumped into her, hand lightly tapping her shoulder before he looked up. They both hesitated, straining to listen to the loud thrum blaring over speakers further into the store. A dragging bass line vibrated against the walls and an unrecognizable drum beat grew in volume as they approached the second set of doors to join the rest of the band at the signing tables.

“…What on earth?” Riza said, soothing Hayate as he fussed slightly in her arms from the noise. Without a second thought, Roy stepped in front of her, pushing open the door. He frowned as the song struck up into a crescendo, a clear younger voice bellowing over the track. Roy looked back, exchanging a look with Riza, that definitely isn’t ours, before he strode forwards into the main room.

From across the room, Breda waved a set of drumsticks to catch Riza’s attention and Havoc shrugged, mouthing ‘Some Trouble’. The crowd of fans had been pushed to the front of the store, waiting behind ropes, but in the back were two teenaged boys protectively blocking off a makeshift stereo setup. The rest of the band were hanging back by the tables, watching as store managers attempted to get rid of the kids. It was Roy who reacted first, identifying not only the disturbance, the source of music, and the presumed problem, but also what needed to be done as he marched from one end of the back of the shop to the other. Riza followed quickly after him, Hayate still in tow. The voices of the managers grew louder under the beat of the music blaring from the speakers as they got closer.

“What are they doing?” Riza murmured. If they were going to create a scene in front of the crowd, even if they were cordoned off, she preferred to know why.

When Riza got closer to the scene, she noted the two boys must have been brothers. The taller one had short, cropped blonde hair, wide maple colored eyes, and a striking aura of calmness despite the screaming around him. He tucked his hands under his arms, folding his arms over his chest, and rolled his eyes as the other brother stepped forwards aggressively. Marked by a bright red jacket with metal studs lining the seams, and long gold pony tail, he couldn’t have been much taller than five feet proper, and still seemed to be trying to strike a pose twice his height and presence. It was a stance Riza had seen coming from Roy before, and she gave her partner a discerning look before he wedged himself between the scene.

“Don’t tell me I can’t play shit man, you know they’ve been looking to sign new bands—“ the shorter teen said sharply, waving around a magazine, the photo of The Burnouts clearly visible on the inside pages it had been opened to.

“Kid, you can’t just set up a whole deal in the middle of my store, I don’t care who is searching for new bands,” the manager retorted, stepping back sharply as Roy came between them both.

“Is that your music on that stereo?” Roy said loudly, stopping as he came toe to toe with the louder of the two brothers. Riza winced for a moment, noting that the taller boy did the same, and waited. “The bloody hell are you doing?” Roy demanded.

“If you could just explain the situation here...” Riza corrected, giving Roy a look as he began to draw himself up to his full height. The posturing was completely unnecessary, even if it did earn a few excited noises from the fans. “We can take care of the situation.”

At that, the short teen stopped, his lips flattening into a resolute frown. He fell silent under Roy’s glare, and then looked down as his brother stepped in to place a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“We’re sorry,” the other boy explained. “Really, sorry—“

“Sorry?” the manager spluttered. “You’re causing a disturbance in my store, upsetting my patrons, disrupting an ongoing event—“

A harmonizing guitar piece struck up over the gathered crowd, and Riza shifted to Roy’s side. Whether or not the boys were admitting it, the music had to be theirs, and while she wasn’t about to say anything, she didn’t need to tell Roy what she thought of it. They could both hear the precision of the music, the composition was good — rough in places, but that was the sound of someone who didn’t have extensive formal training, Riza knew. The chords were properly sounded out, but Riza heard more raw edge and talent than she did precision and skill. Still, this was obviously a garage recording, with poor sound quality, and a vibrant, almost metallic energy filling the air.

It wasn’t metal, but a robotic pop-punk, if it could be called that. Riza shifted her gaze back to Roy, and she knew he had already came to the same conclusions.

“If this is yours, I can’t just let you walk away with this. Someone who can record that with cheap equipment has talent,” Roy said, crossing his arms. “Who the hell are these kids?”

“—Watch it,” the shorter one growled, before the manager cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“These,” the man sniffed, “Are the Elrics. They are henceforth banned…”

“Sir, please, my brother is a bit of an idiot, we didn’t mean to cause any disruptions,”

Roy looked over at the taller of the two boys. “You are?”

“Alphonse, sir. My older brother is a little reckless, and he—“

“—We wanted Riza to hear this,” he shot back, glaring. “The name’s Edward,” he added, disdain filling his voice as he glared up at Roy.

“I’m sure you wanted her to hear the music —” Roy said, voice dipping into the edge of a threat. Without so much as a sigh or missing a beat, Riza pressed her palm to Roy’s shoulder.

“Alright, we get it. You both wanted to be scouted...” Riza blinked once and then looked at the two boys. The imprint label project had been Roy’s idea, but was put under Riza’s administration for the sake divvying up the work. She had handled the legwork because he had created the concept, forged the ideas, and spent hours playing music off of PureVolume for her. But treating her like the talent scout was a surprise — if only because their search was only recently publicized.

“You did all this just so we would listen to your music?” Riza asked, inclining her head towards Alphonse. She felt taken aback, more so than any of the crowd of excited and waiting fans who wanted her autograph made her feel. Keeping a calm expression, she waited for her answer.

Instead, Edward gave her a sullen look in affirmation before he looked away.

Roy spoke next, “Don’t worry about them,” he told the manager calmly. “We can get started right away on the signing as soon as this gets turned off.”

“Removing them from the premises might be necessary however, as we don’t need to delay this any further,” Riza added, stepping back to allow their manager space to approach.

“—Hey!” Edward said sharply.

Roy ignored his protests, and continued. “If you’re so interested in signing under my label, you’ll need a lot more than a hastily scrapped together demo.” Roy gestured back towards their tour manager by the rest of the band, beckoning him over. “Will has my card. Call us if you think you can claw your way to the charts. Might need to tune your guitar before you send in more samples, though,” he remarked.

“We’ll hear from you, I’m sure,” Riza added, as the manager clicked off the makeshift stereo, and the store’s regular speaker system became audible under the crowd’s noise. Their tour manager Will stepped in to their gathering and listened as Roy instructed him to hand out their cards, the store manager gesturing for security to move the speakers. Riza gave one last look back to the brothers’ expressions before turning away, walking back towards the band as Hayate barked in excitement at the crowds.

“I’ll give you a month,” Roy said to the boys before he fell in synch with her stride. Looking over towards the queue, Riza smiled lightly. Under all the posturing, there wasn’t anyone she would have rather fought to release a chart topping single with besides Roy. And if a few minutes music struck a chord with him, then she knew it would be worth waiting to see if the boys tried to contact them again.

As strange as it all had been, she couldn’t do more than shrug when she joined the meet and greet table, sliding in beside Havoc, and next to Roy. Falman leaned over the table, watching them both settle down before he commented, “Do you suppose they noticed they were 1/16th of a beat off when they transitioned to their chorus?” he asked.

“Do you think Chief over there realized that disrupting a business is going to get them both kicked out for good?” Havoc drawled, slumping over the table as he rested his chin in his hands.

Breda shrugged, flipping sharpies in the air and catching them. “Who knows? Kids’ got balls, though. Suppose he has to have them at that height—”

“—Alright,” Roy said sharply. “Can we please get started?”

“Just let Hayate get settled on the table,” Riza said, as she placed her pup on the edge of the plastic counter, directing him to sit and behave.

“Someone oughta get that mutt a sharpie.” Havoc snorted, leaning over to wave his hand in front of Hayate, allowing him to lick his palm.

“Or a cage,” Breda added.

“Completely unnecessary. Hayate is nothing to be afraid of,” Riza said firmly, uncapping her sharpie. “I think an inkpad would do nicely,” she added.

Nodding, Roy smiled. “An inkpad safe for little paws, then,” he said, biting off the cap of his sharpie marker. “Write it down for next time.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

New email

To: rmustang

From: mumchris

Subject: Phone call

Haven't heard from you in awhile. I'll be calling Saturday at 8 am your time. Set your alarm!

Love, Mum

* * *

 

The blaring hotel alarm ripped Riza from her sleep that morning, shaking her out of her dreams and into wakefulness in the dimly lit room. She reached over Roy, hand hitting the button on the clock with a resounding smack. Roy startled awake, eyes flying open. The final beep of the alarm died and Roy blinked a few times in dazed surprise. He groaned.

"It's too early," Roy complained, burying his face into her neck. His words vibrated against her throat, and Riza felt his huff tickle her skin. She hummed in agreement, closing her eyes for a moment before responsibility won out.

"We have to get up," Riza answered, massaging his neck gently while she wound her fingers gently through his hair. Roy nudged closer. She smiled, leaning in to his hold.

With his lips sealed to her neck, Riza had to twist to look downwards at Roy. "Can you even breathe like that?" she asked. He exhaled in response, and Riza shivered. His nose rubbed against her neck as he nodded.

Roy peeled away to look at her, hands sliding over her sides as he pushed up onto his elbows. Sunlight bled through the cracks between hotel curtains, casting a dim, warm light over his shoulders. He hesitated, still close enough for her to feel his next sigh, and then pulled back. Riza blinked, bringing his form back into focus and bit back a snicker. Roy looked downright petulant over being woken up, lips pursed into a deep pout and brows furrowed. His hair stuck up at several sharp, odd angles; where it didn't stand straight up, it fell back over his eyes.

Rolling forwards on her elbow she brought her hand up to his hair and ruffled it gently. Roy whimpered, leaning forwards to press his forehead against her shoulder.

"I know," Riza soothed, brushing his hair back as she ran her fingers through it. "But it's not that early," she said, nudging him until he rocked away from her shoulder and then flopped gracelessly onto his back with a huff. "Look at it this way: now that we're up, we have a little time for ourselves."

Roy grunted. "I suppose. But I wanted to sleep in," he frowned, shifting against the pillows. Biting his lip, he twisted in the sheets, kicking them out of the way as he spread out over the bed. Even awake, Roy seemed to dominate the bed and her personal space; his arms wrapped around her waist as he attempted to pull her back to him.

Riza relented and leaned over his bare chest. Roy's eyes darkened as she eased her weight over him, sliding her hands over his shoulders. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the worn neckline of the tight shirt she'd borrowed from him the night before. It was one of his favorite shirts, buttery soft over her skin - and the fact that when she wore it it hardly covered her ass didn't seem to hurt either.

"I think waking up early could be worth it," Riza said softly. Running her fingers across his clavicle, she smiled when he gave her a dubious look. With a roll back onto her knees, she arched her back and slipped a leg over his hips, straddling him and leaning down to press against him chest to chest.

"I could be convinced," Roy hedged, shifting as the shirt hitched up her thighs. Riza moved, pressing into him hip to hip. When she settled her weight against him, Roy instinctively moved to steady her. His hands flexed against her thigh, pressing into bare skin. Riza paused mid-motion, and Roy gave her a startled look as she slipped her hand over his, stilling his hand on her thigh.

"Hmm," Riza teased. It was clear she had Roy where she wanted him - paying attention to the curve of her ass under his hands - and well and truly on his way to being awake. "I wonder how I should start," she said, raising a brow.

Roy grinned, eyes lighting as he wiggled his bottom lip teeth flashing against reddened lips. Stretching, Riza traced a line down his shoulders and over his chest as Roy replied, "At the beginning," with a wry look.

She snorted, skating her fingers over the hard lines of his muscles. "A very good place to start," she conceded, enjoying the slight sharp inhale she evoked from him when she moved. They adjusted to each other, morning heat building between them in a tight, building pressure. His erection pressed into her thigh and his grip on her ass tightened fractionally as she slid her hands over him.

As much as she enjoyed the tease however, she preferred the dark, surprised look in his eyes as she rolled over him and levelled her face with his. Shifting over his lap, Riza exhaled slowly as she made herself comfortable with the steady building burn in her belly. Her nose bumped against his briefly and she felt Roy's next breath more than she heard it, a soft exhale skimming her skin as he opened his mouth, wetting his lips. For a moment, she half expected him to say something more to her, another lyric or a clever line, but instead she found herself fixated on the way his lips glistened. Her mouth fell open in wordless expectation.

He reached out to sink his fingers into her hair, weaving them into gold tresses as his breathing slowed, matching her own heavy and expectant breaths. Riza sighed softly as he cupped her cheek. Her gaze lowered to his mouth, lids drooping under heavy lashes. He exhaled, warm and humid against her lips and nose brushing against hers again as she closed her eyes.

Riza inhaled, lips curving into a grin before he even moved to complete what she had started - and as soon as she did, a second loud ring startled her out of her smile.

Opening her eyes, she pulled back swiftly, glaring at Roy's Sidekick vibrated against the nightstand, playing his obnoxious rap. In the same moment she dove for it, Roy moved to protest, "Don't--"

She accepted the call before he could finish his groan, her thumb on the call button and her other palm clapped to his mouth. Riza's eyes widened as she answered, "Hello?", face flushing as she realized what she had just implicated herself in.

Riza coughed to disguise her choke of laughter and embarrassment as the other voice filled the line, Chris Mustang offering her up a bemused good morning. A grin tugged at Riza's face, and she gave Roy a devious look as she slipped her fingers over his lips, thumbing his bottom lip. It was one thing to answer his phone when a complete stranger called - but another entirely to speak to his mother while she was straddling her son 'Good Morning'.

"Chris!" Riza enthused, tapping her nails against the case of Roy's Sidekick. "I didn't know Roy was expecting a call from you. He didn't mention it," she said, pointedly raising an eyebrow at Roy who sighed and mouthed 'I forgot' underneath her fingers.

"I was just about to get him up, though," Riza added, not without a sense of irony as she twisted her hips, settling herself into a more comfortable position. Her hand muffled most of Roy's frustrated groan, and she glared down at him as his teeth grazed against the soft flesh of her fingers. Returning the glare, Roy shifted underneath her, hands moving up to her waist in an effort to keep her from eliciting another noise from him.

Without meaning to, Riza made a soft noise in the back of her throat as Roy pressed against her, and Chris' voice cut clearly over them both with a knowing tone - "Both of you still in bed, hm?"

"Don't worry Chris," Riza said, swallowing. She splayed her palm over Roy's chest as he watched her, annoyance clouding his features as he moved restlessly beneath her. He stopped when Riza returned his glance. "Roy's virtue is still intact."

Roy spluttered. Chris's laugh echoed loudly over the phone, and Riza dropped it to the pillow besides Roy's head, switching it to speakerphone in time for his mother to comment, "You listen to me, Riza. I sent out a choir boy into that big mean world, and I expect him to come back with at least a little less virtue than what he started with."

"Mother-" Roy interrupted loudly, twisting his neck to look at the phone. He gave Riza a betrayed glare. "I'm perfectly adequately virtued," he began. Riza stifled her laughter into her palm, as she moved back.

"Do you think the paparazzi will pay good money for those chorale portraits?" she said between fits of laughter. "Roy looked so sweet and clean-cut in those little white robes."

The frown on Roy's face deepened as Chris replied, "Can't imagine they wouldn't be worth something. Seeing our fine little rock star singing like a sweet little angel...I can only hope you've been teaching him to be a little less wholesome," she said. Riza bit her lip as Chris continued. "-It can't be good for his image."

"You raise them up right, and then they go and become rock stars," Riza sympathized, shaking her head as she tried to share a look with Roy. Instead of laughing along, he appeared indignant, brow furrowed.

"My image is fine," he complained, retracting his hands. Riza gave him a questioning look, gently brushing back his bangs.

"Mmm," Riza murmured. "Speaking of image, we're looking at signing these kids to our imprint label. Actual kids - the oldest one is emancipated and the guardian of his little brother. They've got amazing potential," she paused thoughtfully. "Roy's good at scouting. Although he could have been a little kinder to them..."

"-They broke into a music store signing to play their music. They were already getting yelled at," Roy argued.

On the other end of the line, Chris said a little more loudly, "And how's he treating you, Riza? Are you satisfied with his performances?" At that, Roy's mouth opened to protest once more, and Riza laughed loudly enough to cut him off, tracing the lines of his jaw.

"He tries to keep up," Riza answered. "We have a concert tonight, which will hopefully go well," she glanced back at the phone. In truth she hadn't wanted to drag out the conversation, but Riza knew every call from Chris counted. They'd only recently been able to afford more frequent long distance calls, and for all that it had thrown off her morning plans, she knew Roy liked hearing from his mother. He just needed to act like it. And she needed to wrap things up.

"I'm pretty sure Roy won't be totally useless," she teased, pushing the phone closer to the pillow, letting the speakerphone pick up her voice. Roy grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face before he gave her a hurt look. He blinked once, then sighed. Wordlessly, Roy pulled away from underneath Riza, causing her to slip back against the mattress.

His face contorted, expression wavering between hurt and anger before he pushed himself off the bed, mumbling, "Whatever. I'm going to go be somewhat useful elsewhere. I need a shower." Pausing, he looked back at his open Sidekick. "Talk to you later mum," he added, before turning to fish clothes out of his luggage bag.

Riza pushed up on the mattress, giving Roy a confused look as she followed his movement. She bit her lip, as he sharply turned away to avoid her gaze. His retreat caused her to frown and she pulled her legs up, curling up on the abandoned bed. What he was avoiding she wasn't yet sure of, but the sudden harshness of his attitude stung.

"What got you up on the wrong side of the bed?" Riza shot back, hoping for some sort of backup. For a moment, there was nothing. Then she heard it, Chris sighing softly in the background as Roy answered.

"Nothing. Now if you'll both excuse me, I have to get ready to be useful at a concert this evening. You can debate my performance abilities afterwards," he said curtly, waving a hand in the direction of the phone. With that, he swept out of the bedroom and shut the bathroom door behind himself with a sharp click.

Riza wrinkled her nose. "I'm sorry," she apologized to Chris. "I don't know what his problem is this morning. He seemed fine when we woke up." But Riza was beginning to second guess how much of his interest that morning had been genuine, and how much had been forced. Roy didn't lie easily or well but he was surprisingly adept at hiding his emotions, even from her.

"It's alright love," Chris answered softly. "Obviously my dear son needs to go soak his head for a bit. Keep an eye on him for me," she added before she gave a heavy pause. "He needs you to ground him," she said and Riza nodded, picking up the phone as she heard the shower begin to run in the bathroom. Running her fingers over the case of the phone, Riza looked back at the bathroom door.

"Of course, Chris."Riza knew that the only person who worried more about Roy than herself was Chris. A sour attitude was one thing, but when Riza was so sure the morning would have gone another direction entirely she couldn't help but be concerned. Something was off. "And I need him to keep rhythm," Riza added, hoping Chris would laugh at the poor joke.

She got a pleasant murmur in response, before Chris reminded gently, "Break a leg tonight."

"Thanks," Riza said before she quickly said her goodbyes and hung up, wistfully remembering Roy's home. London had been easier for him, both on his anxieties and for him to cover them up. Maybe it was harder than she could realize for him to speak to his mother after his hospitalization.

Then again, Riza thought as she set his phone back on his nightstand, maybe it was her he was ashamed of. He had spoken to his mother plenty of times after his hospital stay, both with and without Riza present. Roy liked keeping in contact with his mother, was a mama's boy, even if he avoided bringing up difficult topics or things that made him feel like a disappointment. There wasn't much else that could explain his upsetting behavior, when she considered it. Roy had grown increasingly upset the friendlier she had got with his mother. And the more forward she had gotten with him, the more Roy had gotten upset. The idea that he wouldn't want her to be so candid with Chris had never crossed her mind - but upon reflection she felt silly for thinking otherwise. It was embarrassing.

Roy didn't want Chris to assume something more was going on between them, not something he would want his mother to know about given their friendship.

Swallowing back the lump of realization in her throat, Riza shoved the hotel bed covers aside and rolled out. She quickly peeled off Roy's t-shirt, suddenly uncomfortable with the way it made her feel and pulled on her own shirt and a pair of yoga pants. It was foolish of her to be so presumptive, but as time had passed she thought Roy would have been honest about their relationship. For her part, Riza didn't particularly have anything to hide and had always been welcomed by Chris like family...

But that alone could have been crossing a line. Chris was Roy's mother, not hers. And perhaps Roy needed that boundary, needed to pretend like there was nothing more between them, needed on some level to impress his mother.

Riza made a mental note to explain herself to Chris later, after she had a chance to clear her to the corner of the room, Riza bent down to Hayate's small cage and unlatched the door. She cooed at her sleeping puppy, unrolling his leash as Hayate stretched from his sleeping position and eagerly leapt forwards into her lap. Hayate snuffled against her hand. Hooking the leash to his new collar, she slipped out of the room, pup in tow.

Without a word, Riza escaped.


	10. Chapter 10

The hotel was quiet that evening by the time Riza returned to it. The afternoon had been tense, quieter than normal, but if nothing else, Riza knew she could rely on Roy to get work done. The rest of the band had carried on ,following Riza’s guidance as they prepared for their concert. The usual banter Roy shared with the audience during the concert had been mostly absent and their otherwise mediocre show had only  been saved by Havoc’s incessant attempts at riling them both and his own running commentary and jokes. Where Roy had stopped engaging the audience, Jean had stepped into the limelight, flirting with fans. By the end of the night, going back to the hotel had been a relief; Riza took a shower in the other bathroom and Roy retreated to the bedroom. When she finished showering Riza followed suit, softly calling for Hayate as she opened the door.    

Hayate scrambled up into her arms after she closed the door behind her. Riza could barely make out Roy’s dense figure on the far bed, where he was curled up under the sheets. She hesitated for a brief moment, before setting Hayate down on the other bed. Riza slipped into the bed beside her puppy, and said nothing. Upset stuck in her throat like a thick syrup.

Sensing something was upsetting his owner, Hayate eagerly scooted closer to Riza’s face, licking her playfully as he settled in under her arms. A wet nose pushed against her cheek, and Riza smiled softly. Scratching behind his ears, she listened to his soft whine of content. Rolling, Hayate exposed his soft belly and wiggled up under Riza’s hands.

In the darkness she could make out Hayate’s sweet face as he flopped over to lick her chin happily and the soft brush of his tail against the sheets. Under Riza’s gentle petting and warm embrace, Hayate stilled and fell asleep curled against her chest. She felt her puppy quietly snoring. A thin and tired smile crossed her features and she quietly searched for the dark figure across the room.

Roy shifted, turning in his bed and pulling sheets with him. From across the room, Riza could hear the tense breathing of his sleepless worry, and the tightly strung rhythm of his movements as he attempted to get comfortable. Even with a puppy in her arms, Riza understood the nagging sensation of being bereft, and the imposing sleeplessness that faced her. Roy’s attitude had been unacceptable, but making him so anxious in return seemed unfair. An apology was in order, but neither of them was likely to sleep if it was never made.

After she heard him toss again in his bed, sitting up and huddling in the dark, Riza sighed softly. He tensed, stopping all movement before he dropped his comforter down over his lap. Although she couldn’t see his face, Riza could hear the unease in Roy’s words.

“Are you still awake?” he asked, voice small in the darkness.

Riza hesitated. She leaned up to turn on the small lamp over the nightstand, flicking the small switch to bathe them both in a dim glow of light. She made out Roy’s face in the muted light --  the deep shadows under his eyes and the anxious furrow of his brow. He gave her a half-relieved look, and she softened her expression fractionally.

He swung his legs over the edge of his bed before rocking to his feet. Roy ran a hand through still damp hair, brushing it back from his eyes as he looked over at Hayate sleeping easily against Riza’s chest. He sighed, then eyed the door.

“Do you want to come with me to run down to the gas station? I wanted some snacks,” Roy said, pulling on a hoodie and sweats. He gave Riza an inscrutable look, flipping the hood up over his eyes. She bit her bottom lip, and then scooped up Hayate into her arms, sliding off the bed.

“Here,” Riza said gently pressing the puppy into Roy’s hands. “Put him in the front pocket of your hoodie,” she directed. Pulling at the fabric of his jacket, she plopped a still snoring Hayate into Roy’s large pocket, causing a startled Roy to quickly place his hands under the sudden weight. For a moment Hayate looked ready to consider waking up, but instead he squirmed inside the pocket and fell back asleep. The quiet brush of a wet nose against Roy’s palm seemed to ease from of the tension from Roy’s shoulders.

Riza threw on her jacket, grabbing her purse as she headed for the door. Roy followed closely behind. He hummed under his breath, leg bouncing as Riza tucked the hotel key card into her pockets. They walked in a heavy silence when they left the room. Without checking her phone, Riza guessed it had to be nearly one. The streets were mostly empty, lined with dim street lights and paved sidewalks. Another quiet soul crossed the street, and Riza sighed. The traffic lights changed with a soft click. The gas station itself was less than a block from the hotel’s entrance and Riza walked it in silence, keeping in tune with Roy’s exhausted pace. It didn’t matter how physically tired he was -- when Roy got like this, sleep was more elusive than ever.

When they reached the small gas station shop, Roy edged in behind Riza and wandered the aisles until he located what he had been looking for. A few minutes and a plastic shopping basket filled to the brim later, they checked out, Roy casually scratching behind Hayate’s ears. A low whine escaped Hayate, and Riza moved to slip the bags over her wrists as they left the QT.

The trip back was nearly as short, although Roy seemed to linger on the streets. Uncertain of where the reluctance came from, Riza simply keyed them back into the hotel rooms, dropping the plastic bags on Roy’s bed and sunk down on the edge of the mattress. Roy followed suit, collapsing against the bed. Fishing out a package from the bags, he tore open the hostess cupcakes and passed one to Riza.

“I figured we’d split them since there’s always two to a package,” Roy said softly. He bit his lip, chewing on it before he looked away. Roy’s knee trembled, and he rubbed his arms lightly, as if cold. “...I’m sorry about earlier.”

Palming the sugary cake in her hands, Riza shrugged. She reached for the milk cartons they’d bought, and passed Roy one before opening her own and setting it on the nightstand. Taking a judicious bite of her cake, she chewed thoughtfully. The apology was needed, but Riza remained unsettled. Choking back a cupcake was the first step however, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as Roy wedged open his milk carton.

Instead of eating his cupcake right away, he turned to her. “Am I...” he searched, shoulders slumping. “Am I really that bad? Useless, I mean.”

Riza blinked. She reached for the lump that was Hayate in Roy’s pocket, and then retracted her hand. “You’re not useless, Roy. The whole band exists because you do.” There had been moments where Riza had come to terms with her willingness to lose the music, the record deal, and the fans -- that had all been easy to reconcile with. But losing Roy had remained unacceptable in all possibilities.

“No, you’re the thing that keeps the band together. And it’s not as if you can’t compose, or you don’t write. Bassists are easy enough to replace--”

“--You’re our frontman,” Riza interrupted. “Do we look like Van Halen to you?”

Roy raised a brow. “Or The Doors, Pink Floyd, Journey, AC/DC...” he listed, counting off on his fingers as he cradled Hayate in his pocket. He took a bite out of his Hostess cupcake and then balanced it on his knee. “It can be done.”

“Don’t give me that,” Riza said with a frown. “Singers often get replaced because they’re dead. Just because someone else sings vocals now doesn’t mean Queen is the same without Freddie Mercury. I’d quit. Or Leave,” Riza paused, glancing over at Roy before she hunched forwards, drawing herself into a tight ball. “Both,” she noted flatly.

“If I left?” he asked searchingly.

She nodded. “The Burnouts is our band. I was only teasing with your mum, because I thought it...” she paused, searching for the right word. Riza flushed under the dim light, and then looked away. “It was situational irony - joking you’re useful enough,” she explained, before tapping his shoulder and humming Alanis Morrisette, “Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?”

“Oh.”  Roy took a sip of his milk and then fell into another fit of silence.

Waiting until she’d figured out the best way to word it, Riza scootched closer to Roy and pressed her fingertip to Hayate’s nose poking out of the pocket. Finally, she said, “If it bothers you when I’m too familiar with your mother, you can tell me. I know you don’t get much time to talk with her and I could have just slipped out to get ready.”

Roy shook his head, placing his hand over hers. “She likes talking to you,” he insisted. “I don’t mind. It makes her happy to hear from you, she...you know she’s very protective. Especially of you.”

“I just thought you were upset because...” Riza trailed off, finishing her cake instead of her thoughts.

“No. I thought you were fed up with me.” Roy flopped backwards onto his back, quietly easing Hayate out of his pouch and onto his chest. “This morning could have gone a lot better,” he admitted.

Riza set down the plastic tray the cupcakes had come in and fell back beside him. “You think?”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “God. God, the show was--”

“--We managed alright. We’ve done worse,” Riza said calmly, rubbing his shoulder. “And we’ll play better next time. But for now,” she said firmly, scooting closer to Roy’s form. “You need to get some sleep.”

“If only it were that easy.” Roy said, wriggling under his comforter as he pulled Hayate up to rest under his collarbone on his chest. Wordlessly, Riza tucked herself against Roy’s side and pressed her forehead against his neck. She smoothed a hand over Hayate’s fur, massaging his paws.

“You’re already exhausted,” Riza said. “Just relax for now. Talk to me,” she encouraged, breathing in deeply.

Reaching to turn off the small bedside light, Roy paused, then flicked the switch. Riza blinked to let her eyes adjust to the darkness again, where Roy’s expression was barely visible and only the emotions in his voice carried weight.

“My mum should trade me for you,” he said at last. “The rest of the kids aren’t screw ups...”

Riza poked him firmly in the side. “Your mother loves you. And she doesn’t think you’re a screw up. She hasn’t seen you in months and she worries. I’m just a tag along to that.”

At that, Roy wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tight against him. “You’re a package deal. I don’t think she’d ever forgive me if I didn’t bring you home when I visited.”

“We should make plans to visit soon. There’s a break in touring coming up and she wants to see you. I can tell.”

“I...” Roy searched, his voice cracking. “I don’t think I can go. I can’t just show up--” he broke off, letting the silence of the room fill in his meaning. His next breath shook, and without thought, Riza pressed her lips to his neck gently in assurance. It was hard to think he hadn’t seen Chris since before his hospitalization. The overwhelming fear that lay there had kept Roy on edge, an impending sense of guilt and shame permeating the back of his mind.

“I’ll be there,” Riza said. “Roy she just wants to see you. She’s proud of you, you know. And maybe a little scared, but she’s glad you’re doing this.”

“She wanted me to be a composer--” Roy interrupted with a low rumble.

“No, Chris wanted you to do composing because you were good at it and she thought it made you happy. She always wanted what made you happy the most, and that’s more than my father ever considered when he looked at my potential.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Riza shook her head. “I’m just reminding you there isn’t a catch. Your mom wants you healthy and happy and you could be busking for all she cares.”

“We could still go busking,” Roy offered lightly.

Riza smiled against his skin. “We could,” she agreed. “I’ll bring my violin. They won’t expect that.”

“Mmm,” Roy replied. Another moment passed, and his breathing began to even slowly into a more relaxed rhythm. Riza waited, watching Hayate’s form slowly rise and fall in the darkness as Roy breathed in and out. When it seemed like he was finally easing away from the brunt of his anxieties, Riza closed her eyes.

“Tired?” she asked.

Roy made a noise of affirmation.

“Going to sleep?” Riza pressed.

“If you stay here,” he mumbled as she reached over and laid her arm over his chest. Her sigh brushed against his neck, and though he couldn’t see it in the darkness she gave him a look.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she reminded, brushing her thumb over his sides.

“You can’t,” Roy said sleepily. “Even in falsetto I can’t hit your range.”

“I suppose that’s a convincing argument.” Riza conceded.

“Havoc isn’t pretty enough to take your place,” Roy added thoughtfully. Riza snickered, reaching up to push back some of Roy’s hair from the pillow.

“Well as long as you’re sure about that...” Riza said gamely.

“I am. The rest of the internet doesn’t believe I think so.”

Hooking her leg over his, Riza sighed. “I told you not to google yourself.”

“I didn’t,” Roy said stubbornly as he trailed off. Another long moment passed before he finally added, “I googled you instead.”

“That just sounds obscene,” Riza quirked a brow in the dark, and then rested her chin on his shoulder.

“It was, sort of,” Roy laughed tiredly. “All kinds of fanfiction.”

“Are you saying people write dirty things about me?” she asked pressing closer again to nuzzle her nose against the crook of his neck.

“Mmm. All of us,” Roy said, shifting further into his pillow as he made a pleased hum in the back of his throat at her cozying. Again, he sounded more on the verge of sleep than consciousness, and Riza pressed against his side.

“And did you read any of it?” she whispered into his ear. Roy sighed lightly.

“I plead whatsit,” he said with a yawn. “The American one.”

“You can’t plead the fifth, Roy,” Riza said, nudging him with her foot. When Roy didn’t respond, she huffed and tapped him with her thumb. A rough murmur echoed in the back of his throat as she prodded at him and when she did it again he snuffled, causing Hayate to twitch.

“I can’t believe it,” Riza said. “You actually fell asleep.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General content warnings for anxiety/depression. and Roy's accidental overdose.

Holed up in a VIP waiting room in the airport, Roy and Riza were killing time before their London flight boarded. They sat on a plush couch across from a plump redheaded reporter by the name of Jenna Wildes. Between their arrival at the terminal and their wait to board, they’d managed to squeeze in an interview that had already gone on for an hour. Beside him, Riza coughed and nudged him with her elbow. Roy’s knees knocked against Riza’s as he slid shut his Sidekick. They’d been waiting on him to finish a phone call.

“Sorry,” Roy apologized. “Business call. Signing emancipated minors to an imprint label requires a bit more paperwork than I’d expected.”  

“Everything requires more paperwork than you expected,” Riza said lightly, shifting. Roy snorted, and then tucked his phone into her purse. There’d been one major drawback to his wearing women’s jeans -- unfortunately, they seemed to lack proper pockets. Riza often ended up carrying his phone.

Jenna smiled. “Was that the Elric Brothers on the other line?” she prompted.

“Could you hear them from over there?” Roy laughed. “It was. They’re going to be working while we do our photoshoot in London.”

“Already working on their debut album?” Jenna asked.

Riza dug a tube of lipgloss out of her bag and swiped it on as she nodded. “Mmm,” she hummed. “They’re going to start writing.”

“Meanwhile, the rest of us are flying out. It’s going to be our first time home in awhile,” Roy noted, adjusting his hoodie and rolling up his sleeves. “We’re glad you asked us to go back to England for this. Fitting for us, and for Rolling Stones.”

Looking around, Roy searched for the other members of their group, watching to see how they’d settled in and scattered at the mention of an interview. The rest of the band had crowded at the other end of the lounge, sprawled out by the bar as Breda and Havoc sucked down beers. Jenna Wildes kept Roy from being distracted for too long however, and he found himself trying to keep up with the barrage of questions she had for them both. She was keen and clever, and most of all, knew her shit.

Jenna gave them a catlike grin and sucked her teeth underneath coral lipstick. She turned to Riza and raised a brow.

“Let’s talk about your personal lives now that you’re famous,” she prompted, and Riza gave her a cool and impassive look in response. Roy crossed his legs as he forced himself to keep from fidgeting, and idly checked his phone before slipping it back into Riza’s purse.

“What’s it like being the only woman in a room full of boys?” Jenna asked, tapping her pen lightly against her pad of paper beside her recorder. “Any unfortunate situations or assumptions...?”

Roy swallowed silently. Riza shifted back against the couch and calmly answered, “You know, I looked over the Rolling Stones masthead. I could ask you the same thing -- what’s it like being a woman in a room full of mostly boys?” Plucking an invisible thread of lint off of her soft leather jacket, Riza smiled. Roy fought a grin himself; Riza wasn’t trying to be rude, she was just being deft. Dry.

Roy coughed to hide a laugh. Riza caught his gaze out of the corner of her eyes and gave him an amused shrug.

“Point taken,” Jenna said, already obviously recalibrating the questions in her mind. “Let me ask something else,” she hedged. “How involved is the band in each other’s personal relationships? Are they protective of you?”

Riza didn’t shrug a second time, but Roy caught the tightening of her shoulders anyways and kept an impassive expression.

“It’s not really a big deal that we know where everyone is all the time, or who they’re with. But they can be protective, yes. They care that I don’t get harassed by overeager men,” she said carefully, lifting her chin.

Jenna scribbled something quickly enough that Roy’s head hurt from the noise of her pen scratching against paper. When she looked up from her notes, she asked quickly -- “Fans?” for clarification.

Riza frowned softly. “No. If you have to harass someone - some men have gotten really aggressive, which is why we have security - then you’re not really a fan. There’s no respect there.”

Roy kept a level gaze as Jenna hmmed, fascinated. Bottle green eyes flicked back up towards him. “Speaking of knowing where everyone is, you were recently spotted with a trim brunette in Philadelphia. Are you involved with someone?”

His stomach turned, and Roy sighed. “Funny thing is, I was talking to my best friend’s wife. We met up before meeting him for dinner, so that that got in the papers...it’s surreal. I was their best man, of course, and they have a kid, so it’s nothing like that,” Roy began, glancing at Riza before he paused, and took a deep breath. Meeting with Gracia before he met with Hughes had looked suspect to the tabloids, but it had been nothing unusual. And it was frustrating.  

Running a hand through his hair casually, he continued. “I keep getting asked if I’m dating someone, and I’m starting to wonder if I should just make it up,” Roy said, exasperation leaking into his words. His thumbs pressed into his knees and he glanced down at Jenna under thickly lined lids. “About a month or so before we sat down to record the album, I broke up with my girlfriend. She didn’t deserve how I handled my feelings,” he said, the words coming out of his mouth before he had even really tasted them.

“Or how I treated our relationship in general. And without that -- things get harder to deal with you’re alone. I kicked my own supports out from under me. And then we started to prepare to record and under a lot of pressure to do well,” he splayed his palm out over his knee before folding his other arm across his chest.

“I broke down on the entrance to the highway on the fast lane,” Roy said, fixating his gaze on the back of the couch that their interviewer sat on, its worn and muted upholstery blending into swirling patterns. Without looking, he could feel Riza watching him for any sign of upset. Roy fought to keep his expression neutral. “So the album, it -- it sounds like a breakup, but also like a mental break, it’s broken in a lot of ways.” Something wavered, but Roy wasn’t sure if it was the world around him, or Riza’s breathing. He continued.

“There’s a beauty in that. In Japan, a broken cup can be soldered back together with gold and the cracks show the beauty within,” Roy looked down. “But if you ask if I’ve been seeing anyone, or sleeping with anyone -- I’ve been in the hospital, and I’ve been on tour, and I’ve been not really a good person to be in a relationship with. I haven’t seen anyone, not in months.” The last word fell hard between them and their interviewer, and Roy’s gaze flickered back to Jenna’s hands briefly as she looped out another line across the pad. There had been times his therapist had made the same noncommittal hum in the back of her throat as she made her notes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roy caught Riza moving forwards, head bowed in his direction. She was looking down he realized, and for the first time he’d noticed his hands were shaking slightly. It was almost indistinguishable, but the squeeze in his chest and the sudden chill that ran over him was obvious to her. Riza noticed everything, now. Warm hands reached out for his, and she clasped his right hand tightly, fingers lacing with his and palm flattening into his own. His pulse jumped, and Roy reflexively tightened his grip on her hand as she soothed her thumb over his knuckles. His shallow breathing quieted as her voice sounded out beside him, warm and smooth and far more held together than he was.

“We’ve all put health and touring first. That aside, maintaining relationships with people who don’t travel with you isn’t easy. We’re always having to call friends and family in a rush,” Riza said, rubbing Roy’s hand, “And now we meet people who want to know us because of our fame, or run into old acquaintances who suddenly care now. It’s stressful,” she explained quietly, “to find something genuine.”

A warmth settled over Roy, curving up from his hands to the gentle point of contact from her shoulder casually brushing against his. She was firm and solid beside him, and with a effortlessly calm look, she gently added -- “But we have the band at the end of the day. That’s a constant.”

Rolling his side against hers, Roy pressed his weight into her own body, their jackets adding a small layer of cushion still between them. A wave of exhaustion pulled at his body like a great tide, dragging at his limbs. Riza spoke again, cutting off Jenna’s next question.

“Unfortunately, I think we have to be going,” she said with a polite smile. “It was wonderful speaking with you, but our flight will begin boarding soon and we haven’t yet checked up on everyone else, or gotten snacks.”

Eyes darting quickly to Riza as she squeezed his hand again, Roy helpfully added, “You know how international flights are. Absolutely endless.”

“Ah,” their interviewer said smartly. “Of course. It was a pleasure speaking with you both. I’m sure you’ve given me a wonderful article.” She stood up, as if to extend a hand, but instead Jenna merely smiled as she shrewdly watched Roy and Riza stand up from the couch together, Roy’s hand slipping away at they did so.

Their goodbyes were as quick as their retreat and once out of earshot Riza gently steered Roy in the direction of a row of empty seats just out of reach from the rest of the band. Roy sat down hard on the chair, his knees giving out from under him. She sat down on the bench beside him, idly watching the rest of the room out of the corner of her eyes. Fame didn’t matter as much in a nearly empty VIP suite.

Riza brushed her fingers lightly over his arm, an open invitation. Roy fell forwards into her touch, arms wrapping under hers as he buried his face into her shoulder. The next ragged breath he took caught in his chest, then shuddered out as he exhaled slowly over her collarbone. Strong hands wound up over his back and Riza stroked Roy’s hair gently as she pulled him closer to her. The taste of apprehension filled Roy’s mouth, but exhaustion took precedence.

Her head dropped to lean against his, pressing her cheek against his ear as she murmured quietly, “Are you okay?” The tips of his fingers pressed tightly into her back, and Roy nodded slowly, pressing his chin into her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine on the flight,” he said.

“That’s not what I mean,” Riza said as she ran her hand up and down his back once, soothing him. Although worry clung to her words, Roy heard the fondness as well and he sighed and relaxed into her touch, the suddenness of the attack fading.

“They’re going to publish that,” he said thickly.

Riza hummed in agreement, her chest vibrating against his. “And the hand-holding,” she added.

At that, Roy pulled back with enough force that he narrowly avoided smacking his head against her chin. Eyes wide, he ducked down in nervousness and bit his lip. The sudden swell in his throat choked his words as he scrambled to speak. “I didn’t think--”

A soft hush passed Riza’s lips, and without hesitation, she pulled him back to her shoulder. “I initiated it. I don’t care what they make of it, you--” she sighed deeply, before continuing. “You lied a bit, anyways.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy pressed, mumbling against her shoulder.

Riza turned, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, her lips warm and lingering. Her exhale fluttered over his skin and she shook her head. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” she said.

Licking his lips, Roy nodded slowly. “I didn’t think about what I was saying, or why I said it. I just thought about defending the band...”

Riza paused as Roy quietly dropped his head. “Do you regret it?”

“I don’t know yet. Who knows how much of that will be the focus of the article?” Roy said, hands curling tightly back around her waist. “...Are you okay with it?” he asked. Telling the truth would have been inadvisable - celebrity leant itself to a little dishonesty in order to maintain privacy - but that didn’t mean Riza approved of how he had handled the interview. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment as he waited for her response.

She shrugged, shoulder rolling under his chin before she spoke. “Hayate might be disappointed you denied cuddling him at bedtime,” she said lightly,  “-but explaining the rest...” Riza broke off, pulling away. She brushed Roy’s cheek, stroking his jaw once gently as she avoided his gaze. “People would get the wrong ideas.”

“Of course,” Roy echoed, voice hoarse from the dry air of the terminal. “You’re right.” Riza was always right, about everything. Even if they did spend nights together, it wasn’t the same. It had been close, so near and within reach, but they weren’t a couple. Not a couple a magazine wanted to know about, anyways.

Riza pressed her forehead to his for a moment. Her lips opened, and a word formed in her mouth before the sharp female voice over the intercom announced their flight would begin boarding shortly.

The sudden and impending sense of dread returned in a panicky clutch in his chest. Drawing himself back, he looked at Riza. The crackle of the announcement faded after a firm click, and Roy shook his head. He coughed, a slight scratch working in the back of his throat.

“I can’t go,” Roy explained quickly, his voice trembling as he worked through the possibilities in his mind. There were too many strings attached to his arrival home in London, and an endless number of things that could go wrong. A shiver worked its way from the bottom of his spine upwards. His mother would inevitably see him like this, would want a myriad of explanations and would have just as many expectations. “I can’t go back home now, we shouldn’t go to London--”

Riza brushed her thumb over his cheek, bringing Roy’s words to a lulling stop as he focused on the soft movement of her fingers. “Roy,” she said. “We’re going for work. If you don’t feel up to going home, we can get a hotel room in the city with the rest of the band. Chris will understand.” She gingerly removed her hands, and looked over at the pile of luggage they’d left beside Falman. “Is that alright?”

Biting his tongue, Roy thought about it. Staying at home while in London was supposed to be a convenience, a break from a flurry of activities and album promotions. Booking a hotel room had seemed unnecessary at the time, and Roy had offered to go home. Even disregarding that, the photoshoot was important and cancelling wasn’t an option. His stomach lurched and he swallowed. With a final sigh, Roy nodded. “We should probably,” he stumbled, moving to stand up, “--we should get going,” he hesitated for a moment before peeling away from her gaze. Riza stood up behind him, rolling her shoulders as he braced himself for retrieving their things. All they had to do was board the plane.

They walked in companionable silence to their luggage, no more than a few yards away from their seats. Havoc and Breda had crowded back into the fray, tossing bags of luggage this way and that between them as Fuery suffered under the weight of his own carry-on that looked about half his weight. Falman calmly picked up his satchel and slick suitcase, while Jean seemingly purposefully whacked Breda with his duffel bag as he threw it over his shoulder.

It was Havoc who spoke first. “Hey boss, you alright to fly? I think we have a xan--” he began loudly, before shrugging as Riza shot him a glare. “Alright, alright. You just seem like you’re not excited to be sitting in a small seat for hours on end is all.”

Breda snorted. “Name me one person who would be looking forwards to _that_.”

Roy didn’t bother trying to cut in a word edgewise. Instead, he shrugged noncommittally, letting Fuery enthusiastically cut in. “--I don’t think I’ve ever flown first class before though, and on an international flight to boot. I’m excited!”

“Of course you would be, Kain,” Havoc said, leaning over to ruffle Fuery’s hair, messing up their beloved techie’s spiked black style.

Riza smiled tightly, and cast him a warm look before sliding her gaze back towards Roy. “I’m glad we were able to arrange for you to fly with us,” she said lightly.

Looking up from his bags, Falman snapped shut his satchel and calmly asked, “Are we prepared to board the flight?”

“Yes,” Roy answered as Havoc and Riza nodded. “I think so.”

They left the VIP lounge with little fanfare, passing by a few tired businessmen and someone who Havoc recognized as an American football player but whose name didn’t register with anyone else. Their gate had been close to the lounge and Roy and Riza hovered at the center of their ragtag team, Fuery leading the charge and Breda and Havoc hovering at their sides while Falman tailed them. Roy was grateful for their heights blocking the majority of prying eyes as other passengers craned to watch who was rolling in to the front of the first class line. With Breda at his side, and Havoc at Riza’s it was hard to get a definite look at either of them; there had been plenty of times Roy wished he had been taller, but never in moments like these, when privacy was dictated by who could see him.

A timid tween girl leaned forwards in her seat with her razor phone, and snapped a candid shot before Riza twisted to peer down, building up a slight glare. Another camera flash went off and Roy slipped on a pair of Ray-Bans. From behind them he watched impassively, too tired to bother with his usual bravado. He slunk down, pulling back as someone leaned in too close. Murmurs of recognition rippled through the crowd as their boarding passes were scanned, and a few more shots were snapped before they disappeared down the ramp and into the connecting hall to the plane.

Their pilot grinned at the door of the plane, but Roy didn’t bother to do anything other than nod as he boarded the aircraft. Fuery ducked into the first of their rows, excitedly hefting his bag over his head and into the luggage compartment before he slid into the wide bench seats and pressed himself up against the window.

Behind him, Breda squeezed into the row before Riza, before double checking her boarding pass against his.

“Trade you,” Breda offered, pressing his ticket into her hands. He took the middle row of seats, while Riza turned to read off of Roy’s ticket. Taking Breda’s seat put her in the seat beside Roy’s instead of across the aisle. She paused, waiting for Roy to put up his luggage and take the window seat before she slid in beside him and made room for Havoc to join Breda and Falman to sit beside Fuery.

The dull hum of the plane rumbled over their movements, and Roy settled into his half of their bench seat. First class was supposed to convert into small cots for sleeping, each pair of seats easily partitioned out by a screen blocking the aisle. Riza pushed up the armrest that had been laid down between them, and the flimsy additional screen that slid out over it. Roy buckled himself in as the band chattered idly around them, passing out snacks amongst themselves. A bag of pretzels was passed his way and Roy played with the plastic bag, half hoping to pop it, and half hoping he wouldn’t. He bit the inside of his cheek, replaying the interview in his head again and again, each time focusing more on the feeling of Riza’s hand taking his own. Roy wondered if he had even registered Jenna’s expression when it had happened, what his own face had looked like. When he closed his eyes, potential headlines swam behind his eyes.

Most of the flight boarded without consequence, although a few of the other first class passengers recognized them and gawked. Riza gave a warning frown to passengers who lingered too long by their seats, while Roy passively turned away. The dull drone of the plane picked up as they taxied to the runway and a flight attendant went over the flight regulations. Roy pulled off his sunglasses, and tucked them into his seat pockets. Outside of the window the airport winked away, vanishing beyond their view.

When they leveled out in the air, Riza pulled out their divider, blocking them from view from the aisles before she leaned towards Roy. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching her concerned expression fixate on him, and then the view from the window. Clutching his water bottle, Roy let the condensation run over his fingers as he played with the moisture silently.

Sensing his distress, Riza loosened her seat belt buckle and slid over, drawing Roy closer to her. Without resistance, he leaned into her shoulder. Riza’s hands wound over his chest, and she pulled her thumb over his ribs, as if counting each one individually. After a moment of silence, Riza sighed. “Do you want to talk?”

Roy closed his eyes. Although the noise of the plane was loud enough to muffle their quiet conversation, he still preferred not to be overheard. Roy pressed his ear to Riza’s chest, listening for the soft squeeze of her heartbeat before he hummed in agreement.

“I never thought about it all like that until today,” he began as she stroked his hair. “I hate the repetition. Explaining and having people not understand that I went wrong somewhere and couldn’t fix it--” Roy made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “--the damage is done. I knew even then what it looked like,” he said. “I destroyed good things that mattered to people.”

At this, Riza paused mid-stroke and brought her hand down to his cheek. “You didn’t destroy anything, Roy. You weren’t well. It wasn’t your fault.”

When she leaned in to rest her lips against the crown of his head, Roy placed his hand over her arm, quietly pressing his palm against her. “I did, though. I know I should have broken up with Emma sooner than I did,” he said, quietly recalling his last ex-girlfriend with perfect clarity. “She genuinely cared, and I ruined that relationship and held onto her anyways. Then I nearly ruined the album,” Roy murmured against her collarbone, words low enough that Riza had to lean in to catch them.

“She’s a big girl, Roy. Whatever happened between you,” Riza replied, tightening her grip on Roy, “--she’s still our friend. That’s not ruined.” Riza moved back in her seat, reclining her chair gently as she let Roy settle into her embrace. “Do you think,” she whispered, “--any of us would have cared about the album if you being okay was at stake?”

“We worked hard for that--” Roy began to protest, shifting away to meet Riza’s gaze. He watched as she swallowed hard once, and then looked down at her lap.

“I’m not saying there wouldn’t have been disappointment if the album fell through,” she said, holding back the small crack in her voice. “But losing you would have been so much worse than that.” Roy watched as the corners of her lips twitched downwards. He moved to slide her back into his arms, this time tucking her under his own chin.

“You didn’t ruin _anything_ , dammit,” Riza said, her voice wavering.

“I don’t want to do that again, I won’t,” he promised. “I don’t know what to tell you to make it better. Or what to tell my mother, I just...” he fumbled for the words, desperately rubbing her shoulder for any sense of reassuring contact. Roy fell silent for a moment, and then calmly kissed the top of her head, lips pressed to her buttery blonde hair.

Her grip tightened. Riza made another small noise in her throat, and then cleared it before she said, “You never said, and not that you have to but,” she began cautiously, “What...what happened that night? I didn’t know what to tell Chris, and I -- we worried about you and what we could have done...”

In the silence that followed, Roy cleared his throat. There was no easy answer, nothing he could say that would ease the worry entirely. But the idea that saying nothing at all worried them more surprised him and a sudden rush of guilt prompted him to speak with honesty. “I don’t know what it was,” Roy said honestly. “I didn’t intend to get the results I did. I just -- wanted to sleep. To slow down and stop thinking so much, I didn’t, I didn’t think about what I was doing. I was desperate.”

Another moment passed, and finally Riza nodded against his chest. “You should tell your mother that, Roy. Just. So she knows.”

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat, linking fingers with her as she reached for his hand. “Is there anything else...I can help with?” Roy asked. With his next deep breath, he felt Riza lean heavily against him. Worry edged at him, something still missing that he needed her to know, something that could assuage her concerns. There had been so many factors in his withdrawal from their friendship that Roy was unsure of how to explain himself honestly. Everything he had done in the months leading to his hospitalization had been with the intent to protect Riza, to keep her from worrying -- to keep her happy even as he struggled with himself. As he’d distanced himself from her, he had found it harder and harder to reach out. Now, he wanted to bridge those gaps.

“Just...be here,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Don’t leave me,” Riza said. Spreading her other hand over his collar, she paused and wrapped her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. For a brief second, her fingers trembled against his chest.

Roy soothed his palm over her arm again, pulling their linked hands back to his chest and across his heart. “I wouldn’t ever leave you,” Roy said, kissing her forehead again instinctively. Riza sighed in response, her hands relaxing. After another shuddering breath, Roy determined that Riza was content, if not necessarily happy with the promise.

He sighed. “Are we going to be okay?” Roy asked.

“Mmm,” Riza hummed. “I think so. Do you think you’ll be okay going home?”

“I want to be,” Roy said honestly. Swallowing, he pressed their foreheads together. “I’m going to try, anyways.”

With a soft murmur, Riza agreed quietly  - he could do it - before they both fell into an even silence, listening to the rumble of the jet and the white noise hush of the air conditioning in the cabin. Between the hum, Riza’s warm hands linked with his, and her even breathing, Roy was lulled to sleep in their seats as Riza curled into his chest.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took forever. It finally happened because @perlaret and I decided to write this one together. Better late than never?

There’d been no two ways around it -- they didn’t make it to Heathrow until late into the night, and their arrival at Chris Mustang’s home came even later. Part of Roy had wanted to simply skip returning to his foster mother’s home entirely and remain with the rest of the band in the hotel. But the other, more practical, part of him knew that that drive would have been even longer. His teenaged bedroom was hardly small, but alone in the dark it had an air of suffocation about it. Moonlight spilled over old Star Wars bedsheets, and an old acoustic guitar. In bed, the shadows of his room loomed overhead. It was odd to see remnants of the time he spent learning composition, including the piles of notebooks stacked on his desk and leaning in his bookshelves. They half-felt like relics from another life.

Roy rolled fitfully onto his back, dragging the covers with him, and reflected on the small family reunion that’d taken place not two hours before. It’d been… quieter than expected, even given the late hour, punctuated by long hugs, a cup of tea for him and Riza both, and a promise that they’d talk more in the morning, when they’d gotten some proper rest.

Proper rest didn’t seem to be on the table, however. After stumbling in the low light of his bedroom, he’d put on his pajamas and laid quietly in the dark. The soft tick of the old-fashioned clock down the hall could be heard if he strained enough, and the low rumble of cars outside in the city briefly drowned the noise out in uneven intervals. It didn’t help that he’d acclimated to the temperatures in the states more readily than those in England, and a cool night breeze shivered over his bared skin. Despite the exhaustion of their flight resting heavily on him, every time Roy closed his eyes to sleep, discomfort woke him up again.

He was stewing in frustration and tiredness after several such repetitions when there was a tap at the door, soft enough that he thought he’d imagined it for the moment before it swung open, hinges making a single quiet squeak of protest. He pushed himself up on his elbow just in time to see Riza poke her head through the door, unmistakable even in the darkness. She saw him move and sighed.

“Still having trouble sleeping?”

“How’d you guess?” Roy said, looking back at her silhouetted in his door frame. It seemed like an obvious enough answer, but the fact that she was asking it meant that she hadn’t been sleeping either.

“I had my suspicions.” She glanced back into the hall briefly before stepping into the room, closing the door behind her. The latch caught with a gentle click and she made for the bed on tiptoes. “Budge up.”

Roy pressed against the wall beside his bed, shifting to make room for her beside him. For all its flaws, his bed was enjoyably bigger than anything on the tourbus, but still smaller than the one in Riza’s guest bedroom. Lifting the side of his duvet with Princess Leia on it for her, he waited for her to slide in beside him. “You’re not asleep either, you know,” he remarked. “I mean, I know why I’m not asleep, but what’s kept you up?”

“I was restless,” she explained, squeezing onto the mattress and readjusting the blankets over them. Her knees brushed against his beneath the sheets. “Just jet lag, probably, but I was wondering how you were holding up too.”

Sighing, Roy turned to his side on his pillow. “Before we got here, I worried this would end up being a big deal. Now that we’re here…” They had tea and went straight to bed. Vanessa was asleep, and only Chris had greeted them on their way in. “Everything feels normal but me...nothing’s different.”

Riza made a thoughtful noise, tugging at the pillow a bit until he relented, letting her shift it towards her a few inches. He followed, willing to share but not entirely willing to sacrifice the cushioning -- nor the opportunity to be closer to her, if he were being entirely honest. She settled once she was comfortable and replied, “Well, you’re not that different. Don’t let the fame go to your head.”

With a soft snort, Roy pressed forwards, bumping his nose against hers for a moment. “Don’t you know who I think I am?” he teased softly. Another moment passed in the darkness before he added, “I didn’t expect coming home to feel like this, though. Mum didn’t even seem to blink, really. I can’t decide if I’m glad or...disappointed, maybe.”

“I thought you were worried she’d overreact?” she said, half a question. Her hand found his where it laid between them, her fingertips lingering over the ridges of his knuckles, the contact a quiet point of reassurance.

“I was. I don’t know,” Roy said, relaxing against her touch. “The thing is, I guess it wouldn’t matter what happened, I’d still feel like it happened wrong.” Enveloped in his own insecurities, Roy knew that in any scenario he would have felt strangely displaced. Almost as bad as having his mother smother him was the idea that everything was simply a small ripple in a big lake - the idea that his mother had come to terms with things better than he had. After all, with time and distance, anything could change.

“That’s understandable,” Riza said softly, stroking soft circles over the backs of his fingers. “But at least it didn’t go badly, right? And you’ll have more opportunity to talk more in the morning and work through things.”

“Yeah,” he replied, wondering how such a conversation would play out over breakfast, or lunch. If he thought about it more deeply, the realization that there didn’t seem an appropriate way to bring it up became more clear. In truth, Roy wasn’t sure anyone knew how to talk to him about his accidental overdose.

He’d have to leave wondering how to broach it until the morning.

“Hey, Riza--,” Roy said, drawing his free hand over her waist before he looked at his bed. In a rough whisper, he spoke from memory, “--She'll make point five past lightspeed. She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, kid. I've made a lot of special modifications myself. “

He heard the way she bit back a laugh, fighting back his own smile at the sound. “You still have that whole movie memorized, don’t you?”

“Absolutely, your worship,” Roy said, as seriously as he could manage without laughing.

Riza couldn’t restrain her own snicker, but she rallied back with, “Oh, shut up you scruffy-looking nerfherder.” It lacked her usual deadpan delivery, but that could be forgiven, considering the hour.

Feigning indignance, Roy frowned. “Who’s scruffy-looking?”

“Definitely you,” Riza replied, reaching up to ruffle his hair. The movement brought her closer over the mattress, but she didn’t retreat, instead dropping her hand to his shoulder when she was done and sighing contentedly.

 

Without hesitation, Roy leaned further in, drawing Riza closer against him. Roy locked an ankle over hers, and relaxed against the warmth of her body. He didn’t have another retort prepared for her last comment, and instead was content to merely settle in for the night. Nuzzling her, he felt dregs of sleepiness hit the backs of his eyelids, causing them to droop.

Roy yawned.

Riza nudged his foot. “Finally sleepy?”

“Mmm,” Roy murmured. “Think so.”

He could feel her nod slightly, causing the pillow to rustle. “Okay. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

With a huff, Roy cracked an eye back open to stare at Riza across his pillow. “Maybe I don’t want to fall asleep then.”

She made a faint sound of amusement, leaning in so their foreheads pressed briefly together. The faint rush of her breath was warm, as was the little burst of heat it sparked in his chest. “Go to sleep, Roy,” she instructed, words laced with affection.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled good-humoredly as he finally closed his eyes.

Between her even breathing against his cheek and the monotonous tick of the clock down the hall, Roy drifted to sleep, curling tightly against Riza.

* * *

 

If the night had ended on an unexpectedly peaceful note, the next morning started on anything but. Roy started awake to the bang of his bedroom door against the wall and a loud, “Good mooorn-- oh _shit!”_

Riza had startled with him and might’ve slipped from the narrow twin bed if he hadn’t reacted purely on instinct, his arm tightening around her bare midriff, her shirt having (predictably) ridden up during the night. She twisted around so they could look together at the intruder.

Vanessa stood there with a stupid, surprised grin on her face, eyebrows launched halfway to her hairline. “Well, well, _well_.”

To which Riza firmly replied: “No, Vanessa.”

“No? That doesn’t look like ‘no’ to me--” she observed, slipping a lock of ash blonde hair back behind her ear as she leaned against the doorframe.

Forcing a small growl from the back of his throat, Roy propped himself up on his elbow and glared as his adoptive sister. True to form, Vanessa and Roy didn’t know how to respond to each other in any other way but siblings. And as a younger sister, she enjoyed poking at him immensely.

“No, Vanessa,” he echoed, exasperation leaking into his voice as he loosened his grip on Riza’s waist and sat up in bed.

“Whatever you say, Roy Boy,” Vanessa chimed in a sing song voice as she passed Riza a knowing smile. The way she was twisted, he could only see the outer corners of her all-too-familiar disapproving frown.

Scowling himself, Roy inched to give Riza space. “What do you want, Vanessa?”

“Well,” Vanessa drawled as Riza neatly extricated herself from him, tension radiating off of her in subtle waves. Roy relinquished the last of his hold on her with frustrated reluctance. Vanessa noticed, and how could she not? She seemed incredibly, obnoxiously interested in watching their every move. “--Can’t a girl come welcome her lousy brother home? Besides, breakfast’s going to be ready in a few. We figured you’d be hungry and needing to get acclimated to the time difference.”

All unfortunately good reasons. Roy grit his teeth.

“It’s fine,” Riza said, sounding far more calm than the situation warranted. “Thank you for waking us up. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Right then,” she said with a nod, only to continue to stare at them without moving. A full moment passed before Roy cleared his throat loudly and said her name with all the grouchy force he could muster. She relented at last. “Alright, alright, keep your trousers on… if you can.” She gave them both a smirky wink and finally whisked herself out the door.

Roy swore. Riza sighed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I should’ve been back in my own room hours ago...”

Roy bit the inside of his cheek, shook his head. There wasn’t anything to actually apologize for, just another thing among many to explain to his family. Riza rose from the bed and stretched.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll intercept Vanessa,” Roy said. “Or something. We should get dressed and head down. I’ll let you grab clothes.” While Roy knew that pajamas at the breakfast table were more than acceptable for his family, he didn’t want to fuel the fires any more than necessary.

“I’ll see you downstairs, then,” Riza replied, giving him a soft look before heading out his door, leaving Roy to an empty room. With a quick tug, Roy put on a soft comics t-shirt he’d packed, and a pair of baggy black sweats that were more comfortable than his usual skin tight jeans.

Sticking his feet into his slippers, he faced the door, feeling his stomach tighten with the iron bands of nerves. It was amazing, really. He could get out on stage in front of thousands of strangers without any problem, but the prospect of seeing his own family could make him feel like he was going to be sick. Roy ran a hand through his hair; it was already shaky with agitation. There was no helping it.

Time to face the music. That was what he was supposed to be good at... right?


End file.
